


The Victor's Spoils

by AcidGreenFlames



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Cross Over, G1xIDW AU, M/M, Master/Slave, Mind fuckery, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rating: NC17, Sexual Slavery, Slave programs, Sticky Sex, WARNINGS:, dub-con, non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-07
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-15 20:52:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 46,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/531567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcidGreenFlames/pseuds/AcidGreenFlames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war is over and to the victor goes the spoils. The defeated are now forced to deal with the fall out, and pay for the loss in all ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Seekers

**Author's Note:**

> Authors Note: Please read all the warning in this one! VERY IMPORTANT! 
> 
> Important Information  
> “Blah” Speaking  
> :Blah: comm. link  
> ‘Blah’ bonded speech  
> ‘Blah’ thinking
> 
> Astrosecond- 2.5 earth Seconds  
> Klik- 150 earth seconds/ 2.5 earth Minutes  
> Orn- 150 earth minutes/ 2.5 earth Hours  
> Joor- 60 earth hours/2.5 earth Days  
> Metacycle- 17.5 earth days/2.5 earth Weeks  
> Vorn- 10 earth weeks/2.5 earth months  
> Stellercycle-30 earth months/2.5 years  
> Breem-slang for a moment/minute.  
> Night Cycle: star down to star up  
> Day Cycle: Star up to star down
> 
> Summary: The war has ended and the winners reap the benefits while the losers are left at their mercy. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I’m just playing in the sand box. 
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful DarknessRising10

Chains rattled in the dark berth room while the mech lying on his back writhed, soft gasps and harsh panting left his mouth as the other three touched and toyed. A collar rattled along a metallic throat as the larger mech tried to thrash; his arms and legs chained to the corners of the berth, spreading him out, pinning him flat.

 

Optimus Prime tugged on the chains, unsurprised to see they were locked tight, pulling his frame taunt and gave him very little room to move. The seekers _never_ made it easy for him.  

 

A dark chuckle drew the Prime’s blue optics to the winged mech that straddled his dark blue hips and the collar rattled again as Optimus jerked away when Starscream leaned down with a smirk, digits tapping along the Prime’s chest plates. “Trying to escape Prime? Didn’t take you as a coward.”

 

Optimus refused to answer the tri colored seeker that grinned down at him. In due time there would be a shift in power and these seekers would be at his mercy. Shifting his helm away, Optimus focused on Skywarp’s black thigh as the teleporter knelt over his helm; watching just like his trine mates.

 

Sleek, thin digits dug into the Prime’s side, pulling hard at a sensitive bundle of wires causing the Prime to arch and gasp as a mix of pleasure and pain spread over his sensor net. His fans worked harder as Optimus panted; turning his glare back up to the trine leader, the Autobot snarled. He hated how the little fragger would get him so worked up so quickly.

 

Starscream laughed darkly above the Prime again as blue arms wrapped around Starscream’s waist from behind. Thundercracker laughed as he settled behind his trine leader, his chin propped on a blood red vent, “Do it again.”

 

Grinning darkly, Starscream’s garnet optics gleamed with lust as he dug his digits back into the Prime’s side, tweaking the wires. Optimus gasped and arched his back off the berth as pleasure wracked his frame.

 

The seeker’s just laughed, knowing the Prime was theirs and they could do what they wanted to. Thundercracker and Skywarp’s own fingers touched the Prime’s heated plating, mapping out the red and blue armour, dipping into the transformation seams; laughing when he gasped and writhed as pleasure spread over his sensor net from their actions.

 

It was Starscream, as it _always_ was, whose digits slipped downward to his still closed interface panel. The collar clanged against a metallic throat as Starscream’s digits ghosted over his closed panel. “Open.”

 

Optimus frowned at the command; his battle mask long gone as the seekers had taken it as well.

 

“No.”

 

Thundercracker and Skywarp both chuckled as Starscream’s faux hurt look bore into the Prime. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. Open!” The trine leader ordered; all looks of hurt gone and exchanged with irritation.

 

Optimus growled at the seeker in response.

 

Frowning, Starscream sighed. “Very well Prime, we’ll do it your way.”

 

Optimus gasped as Starscream’s clever digits dug into the transformation seams along his hips, sending a bolt of pleasure through his frame again, want pooling in his abdomen. Hips bucking, the Prime glared at the smirking seeker. Thundercracker, still sitting behind his trine leader, stroked Starscream’s pearly white spike in long, painfully slow pulls.

 

That sight more than anything else undid the Prime, and with a soft groan his panels opened with a soft _sic_ ; his valve already moist with lubricants and his dark blue spike already pressurized from the seeker’s actions.

 

From over him Skywarp giggled. “Not much fight in him tonight, is there?”

 

Prime gasped as Starscream’s digits ghosted his spike. “Guess he’s learned.”

 

Suddenly, all servos left the Prime’s frame as the seeker’s rearranged themselves, each ready to take the Prime as they wanted; to use his frame for their own pleasure.

 

Skywarp suddenly settled on the Prime’s chest, his black, gleaming spike pressed to Optimus’s lips. As the teleporter grinned, the Autobot leader could feel the other two moving over his frame; Starscream settled over his spike as Thundercracker lined up his own spike to the Prime’s valve.

 

“You know, deep down you love this too.” Skywarp’s taunting voice sing-songed above him, causing Optimus to snarl at the teleporter.

 

The other two trine members laughed as Skywarp pouted at the Prime.

 

“Then perhaps we should teach the Prime some respect.” Thundercracker nearly snarled from behind Starscream before he suddenly snapped his hips forward with great urgency, burying his spike deep into the Prime’s already wet valve.

 

Optimus gasped and arched off the berth, nearly bucking Starscream and Skywarp off his frame as pleasure and pain shot through his sensor net.

 

“See, respect.” Thundercracker rumbled, his voice tight as he sat still, deep within the Prime’s frame.

 

Optimus cracked open his optics, not realising he had jammed them shut, just in time to watch Starscream drop his frame down onto his spike, causing the Prime to gasp as he was enveloped in warm, slick heat. A static whine left the seeker as he hissed with pleasure, clutching at Optimus’s sides. A shuttering sigh left the trine leader as he settled. 

 

Thundercracker was still stroking Starscream’s spike as the tine leader sighed again and leaned back on his trine mate, sheathing the Prime’s spike right to the hilt.

 

The need and want to thrust filled the Prime, but no matter how hard he tried he could not get his feet flat to the berth; the chains held true and rattled as he pulled and tugged on the metal. With his legs chained out stretched, Optimus had no choice but to writhe helplessly on the berth while the two seekers that used his frame, laughed.

 

Thundercracker, with one servo still wrapped around Starscream’s spike, wrapped his other arm around his trine leader’s waist. The seeker began to thrust into the Prime, pumping Starscream’s spike in tandem, filling the larger Autobot in the way only a seeker could. Liquid heat spread through the Prime as the pain turned to pleasure and Optimus fought the moan that built in the back of his throat. Neither seeker bothered to stay quite as they moaned and panted over the Autobot.  

 

When Starscream began to move, his long, lean frame bouncing on his hard spike in tandem with Thundercracker, Optimus couldn’t stop the static whine from escaping. “Slagging glitch!” the Prime managed to gasp out, his servos clenching into helpless fists as the seekers took him.

 

Thundercracker thrust in as hard as he could, giving Starscream’s spike another hard squeeze. Stretching to look over his trine mates shoulders, the blue seeker frowned at the Prime. Voice still tight and mocking, he managed, “And here we thought you’d be more appreciative.”      

 

Optimus snarled again, his frame shaking from the pleasure the seekers took from him.

 

Skywarp, bored, suddenly grabbed the spike on the Prime’s helm, jerking his face towards his black and purple frame, “Maybe we can find another use for that mouth of his then.”

 

With a hard spike pressing into his lips, Optimus sighed, knowing the purple glitch wouldn’t stop until he did what the teleporter wanted. Opening his mouth, Optimus took Skywarp’s gleaming, warm spike in his mouth.

 

With a happy chirr, Skywarp pressed his servos into the berth on either side of Optimus’s helm and began to thrust into the Prime’s willing mouth. From behind the teleporter, the other two seekers laughed darkly and began their own thrusting a new.

 

Optimus forced his frame to relax and opened his throat to allowed Skywarp to thrust deeply into his intakes, “Come one Prime, I know you can take more than that.” Skywarp huffed from above him while his trine mates huffed and panted as they took their pleasure from Optimus’s frame, collar rattling again.

 

Pleasure danced through Optimus and despite himself, he found himself moaning around Skywarp’s thick spike as he sucked gently, moving and tightening his throat to simulate the seeker.  

 

The seeker’s shuttered and gasped as the Prime writhed beneath them.

 

Overload hit the Prime suddenly and Optimus gasped, letting out a guttural yell around Skywarp’s thick spike as electricity and energy shot across his sensor net. Thick, sticky transfluid shot up and hard into the trine leader’s valve, causing Starscream to gasp and arch back into Thundercracker as Optimus tried desperately to thrust up. Only the chains kept him pinned down as pleasure wracked his prone frame.

 

Going limp, Optimus lay weakly against the berth, his armour pinging and popping as it cooled while his fans spun hard and fast in a desperate attempt to cool his innards.

 

The seekers gently moved away, easing out and off the Prime’s frame with surprising gentleness and grace. They moved out of Optimus’s line of sight, coming to kneel by the Prime’s pedes, waiting patiently for the Autobot to move. Optimus kept his bright, lust filled blue optics focused on the ceiling above him as his processor spun from the hard overload the seeker’s had given him.

 

With a soft sigh, Optimus sent the cue to the stasis cuff s that kept his wrists and ankles bound to the berth, opening the cuffs and allowing the larger mech to sit up with a stretch. Spinal struts popped as he did and Optimus looked at the three seekers that now bowed low to him.

 

Starscream was flanked by Thundercracker and Skywarp, all three of their chests and noses pressed into the berth and wings set low in submission.

 

Optimus sighed at the pitiful sight that was once the proud, strong lead seeker trine. It wasn’t their fault of course, they couldn’t help that the slave programming forced them into submissive cycles like this, where they could not say no, even if they wanted to. 

 

Sighing again, Optimus’s servos twitched, wanting to touch, to comfort. It still enraged him to think about what Sentinel Prime had done to the surviving Decepticons; stripping them of all their basic rights in one single swoop.

 

Megatron had been killed in the heat of the final battle and the remaining Decepticons had no choice but to surrender. With no capable leader and constant in fighting, they really had no choice. The Earth bound Autobots had rounded up the remaining Decepticons, and after much hassle transported them to Cyberton.

 

Optimus Prime had plans to rehabilitate the Decepticons, had plans to prove to them that they could trust him and his Autobots. He had also promised a very injured Starscream and Soundwave that no harm would come to the survivors. However his word had been torn and trashed the moment they touched down on Cybertron. Sentinel Prime had labelled the Decepticons his responsibility, and before Optimus could stop him, Sentinel’s mechs had taken the Decepticons to the stockades.

 

Optimus had all but thrown a fit in order to get the Decepticons back. Had fought tooth and nail for weeks just to _see_ a single Decepticon to ensure their safety; it had taken weeks before Sentinel had conceded and brought one Decepticon to an Autobot council meeting. Optimus had balked when Starscream was nearly dragged into the meeting room; Jazz’s jaw had actually dropped, Prowl’s wings were so high Optimus had feared the wings would snap off and Ratchet had actually snapped the data pad he was holding.

       

Sentinel Prime grinned as he lead Starscream into the meeting room, valve cover dented and torn, one wing completely gone while the other was hanging on by a single hinge. Numerous dings and dents littered his dirty frame and the seeker walked with a noticeable limp.

 

The heated look of hate and betrayal that Starscream had shot Optimus caused the red and blue Autobot’s spark to plummet as despair filled the Prime. He had wanted to help, he honestly and truly wanted to.

 

Sentinel slapped Starscream so hard on the back of the helm for daring to look at another Autobot, that it dropped the already hurting and weakened Decepticon to his knees. Still in a state of shock, none of Optimus’s Autobots could do anything as Sentinel ordered Starscream to stay where he was.

 

For a moment Optimus had thought, had hoped, that Starscream would have mouthed back. He wanted to see that fire in the tri coloured seeker once more. Instead, Starscream tensed and Optimus could feel hatred roll off the seeker, before he relaxed and didn’t move another strut until Sentinel said he could.   

 

Sentinel then explained, with a smirk on his face and his voice mocking, how he had uploaded slave programming into the remaining Decepticons. They could not fight back against any Autobot, they had to follow every order from an Autobot and every Metacycle brought on a heat cycle that only could be _cured_ by the Decepticon’s master. They couldn’t even be brought to overload on their own; the Decepticon’s ‘master’ could only induce a valve overload. A spike overload would not reset the programming.

 

At that, the table actually bent under Jazz’s servos as rage coursed through him. That was not what it meant to be an Autobot. They were better than that, or at least they were meant to be better than that.

 

Grinning and nodding to the Prime, Sentinel stood and wrapped his digits around the collar at Starscream’s throat to drag the seeker to his feet. Still grinning at Optimus and his Autobots, Sentinel offered to allow any of them access to use the Decepticons, any time they wanted.

 

Optimus, Prowl, Jazz and Ratchet all stared in disgusted horror as Starscream cast one last heated look over his damaged shoulder vent while he was dragged back to whatever pit he had been dragged from.

 

For a long time, none of the commanders moved. Jazz tried to say something, working his jaw in an attempt to articulate his thoughts.

 

It had been Prowl, as it always was, who spoke first. “We need to get them out of there.”

 

“No slagging pit Prowl!” Jazz had snarled, “How!?”

 

The saboteur’s anger was brushed off from his mate as Prowl calmly said, “I have an idea.”

 

And an idea it had been. Optimus’s troops had been gathered and the situation explained, and much to the Prime’s pride, his men had reacted just as he had; shock, disgust, and anger. Most importantly, they wanted to help. So disgusted with Sentinel Prime’s actions, they were all willing to put eons of war behind them to help.

 

“There’s a certain amount of respect we have for them.” Sunstreaker explained, surprising everyone. “And this is not how warriors die.”

 

The others had all murmured agreements, and Optimus found he had never been prouder.

 

Secretly, Prowl assigned each Autobot a Decepticon or a group of Decepticons to care for, ordering the Autobots to ensure the ‘Con’s safety, needs and even wants if they could. The following day, Prowl and Optimus walked into the Autobot meeting room and demanded the Decepticons as payment for fighting in the war.

 

Sentinel Prime’s face fell as Autobot after Autobot came into the meeting room, demanding their ‘payment’ and ‘choosing’ which Decepticon they wanted. Rage and anger filled over the other Prime’s face as what had once been his harem, was stripped from him and he _knew_ that it had been planned by Prowl to get the Decepticons away from him.

 

Sentinel had no choice but to concede, not if he wished to stay on the Autobot council and thus in power. Denta gritting, Sentinel only agreed to the exchange if the collars and slave programming stayed, at least then, the Decepticons would still suffer the humiliation of the heat.

 

With a heavy spark, Optimus agreed, seeing no other way to quickly remove the Decepticons from Sentinel’s _care_.

 

Much to Ratchet’s horror, every Decepticon was in a worse state than the last.

 

Shaking his helm to come back to the present, Optimus glanced down at the three seekers that bowed at his pedes, all caught in the middle of a heat caused by the programming, all having no choice but to seek out a valve overload from him.

 

The first time the heat and struck had been awful and awkward. The trio had still been terrified of the Prime’s touch, yet craved it at the same time, needing it to reset the programme.

 

Optimus glanced at the blue seeker, knowing that out of all three of them, Thundercracker had the hardest time while caught in the heat. Skywarp loved to be dominated, as Optimus had learned. The teleporter loved to be pinned down and taken. Even Starscream enjoyed releasing control over to someone else for a while, secure in the knowledge that Optimus would take care of him and not hurt him.

 

Thundercracker however, was dominant in the berth. He despised being forced to submit, hated that while his mind demanded that he be in charge his frame demanded he lay still and take it. The programming telling him that his _master_ would be more pleased that way.

 

The first time the heat had taken Thundercracker, the blue seeker had tried, desperately, not to break. Had tried to lay still and let Prime reset the programming. But as his un-aroused mind warred with his needing frame, the Decepticon had broken. The seeker suddenly broke down as Optimus gently thrust into him; deep, spark breaking sobs as pleas to make it all stop fell like rain from Thundercracker’s mouth. He didn’t want this and begged, actually begged Optimus to make it stop.

 

The Prime was nothing if not adaptable. He looked down at the sobbing seeker, Skywarp and Starscream half asleep on the other side of the berth and had a basic idea of what was going on. Instead of plowing through the situation and forcing Thundercracker to endure, Optimus rolled the seeker, sitting him on top.

 

Vents hitching in broken sobs, Thundercracker looked down at the Prime with confusion. Calmly as ever, Optimus took the seeker’s servos and intertwined their digits and dragged Thundercracker down, giving the impression that the seeker was in fact pinning him down.

 

The seeker had ridden him to completion, distracted enough by the change in position to finish quickly. Optimus had then spent the rest of the night cycle holding the sobbing, hurting and terrified seeker, promising that everything would be okay.

 

That first night had been a while ago and as time went on the, seekers came to trust the Prime. They knew that he would protect them and fought every day with Sentinel for their very lives. The nights when the heat had them were always the hardest; their choice had been stripped from them right along with their rights as the programming took over.

 

Role playing games like the one they just played helped a little. Right now, however, his seeker trine needed him to reset the programming, needed him to give them back their minds, their freedom.

 

With a sure nod, Optimus refocused on the three seekers at his pedes. Knowing that seekers were vain creatures, Optimus knew that if he made a grab for just two, whichever one was left behind, even for just a moment, would feel left out. Optimus had learnt that lesson the second time.

 

Wrapping his long, strong legs around Starscream’s waist at the same time he gently gripped Skywarp and Thundercracker’s shoulders, he dragged the trio from the berth to his barreled chest. The seekers came willingly, softening against his strong frame, their optics somewhat cloudy with the heat.

 

They knew they were safe with Optimus; before they would fight the heat, fight the haze but now they let themselves go along with the heat, trusting their Autobot protector to keep them safe when they were most vulnerable.    

 

“Did we do okay?” Skywarp’s soft, almost hazy voice came as he looked up.

 

Optimus pressed a kiss to the purple seeker’s helm, producing a soft sigh from the other. “Of course.” 

 

Three happy little chirrs answered the Prime’s words. Even in a heat vain seekers always wanted to be the best.

 

Glancing at Starscream, Optimus silently asked for permission to take Skywarp fist. He had learned very early on that, even during a heat, always turn to the trine leader when it came to his trine mates. The leader gave a stiff nod and carefully pulled Thundercracker’s taunt, wanting frame from the Prime’s, allowing Optimus to turn his full attention to the shaking purple seeker in his arms.

 

Pressing another kiss to the black helm, Optimus gently turned Skywarp onto his back, pressing him into the berth. The black and purple mech laughed in delight, his hips arching up in his want. The Autobot quickly found Skywarp’s mouth, pressing his own dark lip plates to the seekers.

 

The laugh turned into a moan as the seeker’s valve cycled open and his knees fell wide in invitation. Even outside of the heat Skywarp was always responsive in the berth, wanting it hard and fast. Outside of a heat, Optimus would drag these interactions out until Skywarp was begging for release; the Autobot would push him higher and higher to climax until it would tear through the seeker, causing the black and purple Decepticon to bow off the berth until nothing but his helm and heels touched.

 

During a heat, however, Optimus tried to finish the act as quickly as possible. When the choice had been removed, Optimus would not force his seekers to endure.

 

Guilt tore at Optimus as he kissed Skywarp’s throat, producing a moan from the writhing seeker. Skilled servos travelled down the seeker’s hot frame; digits skimmed the cock pit glass and over the wide black hips. 

 

Skywarp moaned again, his hips thrusting up to meet Optimus’s traveling digits. The Autobot met the seeker’s lips again as a dark blue digit circled his valve. Lips moving against his own, Optimus could feel and hear Skywarp’s soft begging and pleading, “Oh Please, Oh Please, Oh Please!”

 

Optimus pressed his lips to the seekers audial with a soft kiss and whispered, “Don’t worry love, I’ve got you.”

 

Skywarp cried out in bliss as Optimus pressed two digits inside and spread him. He pressed his thick digits deep into the seeker’s valve, searching out the sensitive nodes that had Skywarp sobbing into Optimus’s neck.

 

“I’ve got you love, I won’t let you fall.” The Prime whispered as he spread his digits, scissoring the seeker.

 

Skywarp cried out Optimus’s name, his hips bucking as he writhed in the Autobot commanders hold.

 

Tamping down on his guilt, knowing that Skywarp would be stuck like this until he was brought to overload, Optimus eased his digits from his wet valve and bringing them to clutch at Skywarp’s servos, Optimus twinned their digits together.

 

“I’ve got you sweet.” Optimus whispered as he pressed his spike into the lean seeker’s frame.

 

Skywarp cried out in bliss as the Prime eased his way into this frame; his spike spreading the seeker. Optimus shuttered as he sheathed himself to the hilt, letting Skywarp cling tightly to his servos.

 

The purple and black seeker cried out, begging Optimus to thrust, to end his torment. The red and blue Autobot complied and Optimus pressed his knees into the berth as he began to thrust into the seeker’s frame.

 

Skywarp cried out as pleasure spread over his sensor net as he clung to Optimus’s servos, heat crawling over his frame as the larger mech thrust into his frame.

 

Overload hit Skywarp hard and fast; the seeker already worked up from the programming that took over his processor. Crying out, Skywarp’s frame arched up and into Prime’s hard frame as electricity shot over his systems. Fans spun hard as Skywarp panted into Optimus’s throat, his armour burning hot.

 

“Are you alright Sky?” Optimus asked as he pushed himself up over the still panting seeker.

 

The sleep mused response from the seeker was, “Yeah. Thanks.”

 

Again, pushing down on his guilt, Optimus eased his way off of Skywarp’s frame and rolled them both onto their sides. Gentle digits stroked at Skywarp’s helm and cheeks as Optimus soothed the seeker, bringing him down from his high.

 

Skywarp sighed and snuggled down into Optimus’s hold, knowing he was safe and the slave programming was dealt with for another Metacycle.

 

A static whine from behind the Prime reminded Optimus that there were two other seekers that needed his attention. After pressing another soft kiss to Skywarp’s forehelm, Optimus moved his lips once more to his audial. “Get some sleep Sky. You need the rest.”

 

Peeling open his dull, red optics, Skywarp snorted at the Autobot. “And miss the show? Not likely.” And a half grin flickered across the seeker’s mouth.

 

Patting the purple and black seeker’s hip, Optimus sat up and pressed his back into the wall; his spike still unsheathed and glistening from Skywarp’s lubricants. Glancing once more to Starscream to ensure Thundercracker was allowed to come to him next, Optimus pulled his knees up and wide, a clear invitation to the next seeker.

 

“Come here TC.” Optimus softly rumbled, his engine purring in welcome and once again the red and blue Autobot had to force away the guilt. This wasn’t his fault but he could have stopped it from coming this far.

 

Thundercracker sighed softly and crawled to Optimus’s waiting arms, bringing the Prime back to the present.

 

Optimus allowed Thundercracker to crawl onto his lap at his own pace, never pulling or tugging at his frame. Despite the heat that rampaged through Thundercracker’s frame and the lubricants the slowly leaked from his open valve, Optimus knew he hated this. Knew that Thundercracker’s mind was un-aroused by the situation.

 

The blue frame trembled in both want and anger. Raising dark blue servos to the seeker’s dark face, Optimus gently ran his thumbs under the blue seekers tired optics.

 

With a soft sigh, Optimus pressed a soft kiss to the seeker’s lips before he whispered, “I know TC. I know.” He spread his legs wider in offering, “Take me how you need to Thundercracker. Use me how you see fit. Take me Thundercracker.”

 

Bright garnet optics widened as the blue seeker panted, his hot breath gusting over Optimus’s tight neck struts. His collar began to glow red hot because of the heat that poured off his shaking frame. Nodding, Thundercracker squeezed at Optimus’s broad shoulders, pressing the bigger mech to the wall. The Prime felt a thrill shoot through him that drowned out his guilt and he made his moaning louder than necessary just to make Thundercracker feel more at ease. 

 

The seeker chuckled, half way aroused, half knowing that Optimus was putting on a show for his own sake but just as relieved that Optimus was trying. As Thundercracker moved onto Optimus’s frame, the prime let his servos wander down to his aft. The Autobot didn’t squeeze like he would have with Starscream and Skywarp, he merely gave the blue seeker support.

 

Taking a deep, calming intake of air, Thundercracker lowered himself onto Optimus’s still hard spike. A shuttering sigh left the seeker as he filled himself with the Prime, staying as still as he could once he had himself completely seated. Thumbs moved in soothing circles at the seeker’s aft while Thundercracker allowed himself to become accustomed to the thick appendage that invade his frame.

 

A static whine left Thundercracker’s vocaliser. “Optimus.”

 

“I’ve got you.” Optimus rumbled back, revving his engine high to send pulses through to the seeker.

 

Groaning, Thundercracker gripped at Optimus’s shoulders as he began to move. Pressing his knees into the berth, the blue seeker moved up and down along the Prime’s spike, impaling himself again and again. Taking his own pleasure, Optimus moved his servos up and down with the seeker, helping Thundercracker’s movements over his ribbed spike.

 

Urgency filled the seeker as he moved. His want to end the session quickly, warred with his need to please Optimus at the same time and he moved faster, riding the Prime harder as they went barrelling towards overload.

 

The second time Optimus couldn’t stop himself. When overload hit Thundercracker, the beautiful seeker arched back with a gasp and nearly out of Optimus’s hold. As overload ripped through Optimus, the Prime bucked his hips up and hard into the seeker. Squeezing the seekers hips hard enough to actually dent the armour, Optimus writhed and cried out in bliss. Thundercracker screamed out as electricity danced over his frame and agonising bliss ripped through his frame.

 

Drained, Thundercracker fell back into Optimus’s strong embrace; the dark blue spike still buried inside him. The seeker trembled in his arms and Optimus couldn’t stop the soft coo that come from his mouth while soft servos ran over the seeker’s rattling armour in an attempt to sooth, to comfort.

 

Careful digits prodded at the damage to Thundercracker’s hips and the guilt returned tenfold. “I’m sorry TC. I didn’t mean to…“

 

“Shut up Prime.” Thundercracker rumbled, his face pressed hard into Optimus’s throat. “It’ll heal.”

 

Optimus grumbled, carefully taking Thundercracker’s face from his neck and cradling his face in his servos. “That’s not the point. I don’t...I can’t hurt you.”

 

Sighing, Thundercracker eased himself off Optimus and pulled out of his hold. His helm dropped in shame and anger as he tried to crawl to Skywarp. Instead, Optimus caught him around the waist, pulling the hurting seeker back into his lap.

 

Wrapping his arms around Thundercracker’s chest, Optimus held his still trembling frame tight. “You have nothing to be ashamed of Thundercracker. You are a proud, strong warrior and you mustn’t forget that.”    

 

Still refusing to meet the Prime’s optics, Thundercracker grit his denta and nodded. Frowning, Optimus pressed his knuckles under the dark chin, drawing the seekers helm back up. “Never walk with your helm down TC. You are better than that and you have nothing to be ashamed of.”

 

Unshed tears glossed the seeker’s optics as Thundercracker nodded again. Optimus’s thumb brushed the seeker’s optics. “I’ll free you of this. I swear I will.”

 

The reassurance was needed. Sentinel had been so rough, so cruel to the seekers, they needed to be reminded from time to time that Optimus wasn’t like the other Prime. That Optimus truly cared for them in ways that not even Megatron had.

 

Gentle lips molded over Thundercracker’s in a soft kiss. When Thundercracker pulled away, he grinned at the Prime, his tears drying up, “I know you will.”

 

His soft voice was nearly lost over Starscream’s hard working systems. Pressing a kiss to the tip of the blue seeker’s nose, Optimus let Thundercracker go, knowing that tonight at least he would not be plagued by nightmares of his time with Sentinel Prime.

 

As Thundercracker settled behind Skywarp, wrapping his arms around his trine mate’s waist, Optimus settled back against the wall. Holding out his arms in invitation, the Prime gently said, “Come here Starscream. Let’s set you back to rights.”

 

Starscream moved slowly, lubricants dripping down his white thighs as he crawled to Optimus, panting hard. His fans worked hard to cool his insides as his frame over heated from the arousal the program forced his frame into.

 

Optimus gathered the trembling seeker in his arms, pulling Starscream close in a tight hug and he pressed his hot mouth to Starscream’s in a burning kiss.

 

The trine leader moaned and panted into the kiss, clutching at the Prime’s chest plates. The seeker pressed his forehelm to Optimus’s lips, where the Prime placed another soft kiss.

 

“Optimus.” Starscream panted softly, a hitch in his breathing.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Just make this stop. Please.”

 

The voice that spoke to him was one that Optimus would never had associate with Starscream before. It wasn’t his deep purr of a berth room voice, nor was it the commanding voice of a trine leader or the high mocking voice that was _just_ Starscream.

 

No, the voice that spoke to him now was soft and brittle, begging that Optimus help him, afraid that the Prime would leave him like this or worse.

 

Optimus nodded, stroking at the seeker’s wings, pinching the tips. Outside of the heat, when Starscream would seek out Optimus as a berth partner, Optimus would drag their interactions out for a long as he could. He would drive the seeker wild until he begged for release. Would tease and taunt the seeker until he couldn’t take it anymore. Not tonight. There would be no teasing tonight. Optimus just wanted to put Starscream back to his right mind; Optimus just wanted _his_ Starscream back.

 

Pressing into another kiss, far softer than the fist, Optimus gently pulled Starscream from the berth, standing him up and tight to his larger frame. Servos soft, Optimus touched Starscream’s heated armour and his digits ghosted over a dark cheek, “Of course.”

 

Optimus turned Starscream, with servos as soft as silk, and pressed his chest back into the berth; bending the seeker at the waist. The Autobot commander eased Starscream’s feet apart, giving him the balance he needed as his frame trembled.

 

“I’ve got you Starscream. I’ve got you.” Optimus whispered to the shaking seeker, draping his arms over the others. He twined their digits together and kissed a trembling neck, just above the silver collar clamped around Starscream’s throat.

 

Pressing the head of his spike to the rim of Starscream’s valve, Optimus pressed another kiss to the seeker’s cheek before he nosed his spike inside. The tri colored seeker gasped and arched into his lover, clinging hard to the dark blue digits.

 

Optimus moved slowly, allowing the seeker time to adjust to his size and the position, before he pulled back out. Snapping his hips forward, Optimus buried himself fully into Starscream’s wanting frame. The seeker panted, arching back into Optimus’s frame. Moving one arm from Starscream’s arm to wrap around his waist, Optimus held the seeker tight as he began to thrust. Starscream moaned and let his helm fall back to a bright red shoulder.

 

Dropping his own helm to the seekers neck, Optimus inhaled deeply, loving the sweet scent that was just Starscream; wishing that his seeker has in his right frame of mind. It was his snark and sarcasm, his fire that drew Optimus to the seeker. He missed his seeker when his personality was dampened by the program.

 

Starscream’s arm moved to grip the back of Optimus’s helm tightly as the Prime continued to thrust; just as the other two seekers before him had, Starscream overloaded quickly, hard, electricity dancing across his frame in arcs as pleasure wracked his frame.

 

Suddenly, as though a cloud had been lifted, Starscream’s processor cleared and he sagged weakly in Optimus’s hold.

 

Shifting his hold on his seeker, Optimus gently lifted Starscream so he could cradle the worn out frame as he eased himself back onto the berth.

 

“I swear to Primus I shall kill Sentinel Prime for this. He will suffer for what he has done to us.” Starscream snarled as he pressed his face into Optimus’s neck.

 

Optimus lay on his back, drawing Starscream against his side and the tri colored seeker sighed as he laid his helm on his wide chest. Optimus wrapped an arm around the seeker, drawing him impossibly closer. “I know Starscream, I know.”

 

Skywarp and Thundercracker crawled to where the two lay; Skywarp settling low with his helm on Optimus’s abdomen and Thundercracker pressed behind his trine mate, his own helm high on Optimus’s chest.

 

Wrapping his other arm around Thundercracker’s shoulders, the Autobot drew the other two seekers in tight to his frame, digits soft on their cooling frames as he drew invisible patterns.

 

“Get some rest now.” Optimus rumbled, “You can’t let Sentinel know how much this hurts you.” His own rage at the other Prime fired through Optimus, his own guilt at not stopping it, eating away at his spark.  

 

Skywarp was already in recharge, his long, lean frame soft against the Prime’s. Thundercracker well on his way there, optics half lidded as he snuggled into the only Autobot he trusted.

 

Starscream, whose fans had yet to click off, was drawing the glyphs for ‘protector’, ‘lover’, ‘friend’ and ‘guard’ again and again on his windshield.

 

The trine leader sighed and sat up, his red optics narrowing on the Autobot. “Stop it.” He demanded in the hard, mocking voice that Optimus had hoped to hear once more.

 

Confused, the Prime quietly asked, “Stop what?”             

 

“Stop thinking about what Sentinel did to us.” Starscream hissed. “It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have stopped it if you wanted to so thinking about it, it won’t change what happened.”

 

“But…”

 

“Stop it Optimus!” Starscream hissed, real anger in his voice. “You got us out, it’s enough for now.”

 

With a disgruntle sigh, Starscream lay back down, pressing into Optimus’s chest. Huffing a sigh, Optimus tightened his hold on the seeker, “I will set you free once again. I will see to it that this program be removed. ”

 

Starscream huffed and leaned up to press a kiss to Optimus’s neck. “We know you will. Why do you think we trust you?”

 

Optimus chuckled at the seeker’s snark, glad to have it back. The Prime then pressed another kiss to Starscream’s helm as the seeker settled back down for rest.

 

Garnet optics offlined with a soft sigh and Starscream let his recharge cycle begin.

 

The guilt washed away, and the fond feelings he harboured towards the seekers settled back in the Prime’s spark. The soft feeling of love he had for the trio made itself known as warmth spread from his center.

 

“Love you.” Optimus muttered softly.

 

Starscream chuckled. “We know.” He pressed a little harder into his Autobot. “We love you too Optimus.” Came the mumble shortly thereafter.

 

The warmth spread outwards from Optimus’s spark.

 

“Tell anyone I said that, and I’ll rip your glossa out.”

 

Optimus’s laugh jerked an annoyed and exhausted Thundercracker from recharge and the Prime pulled his seekers closer, determined to protect them the best that he could.  

 

 


	2. Combaticons Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Combaticon's fight to survive in their new world. Luckily for them their Autobot's adore them and will protect them from any threat. 
> 
> **PLEASE** Heed the warnings!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors Note: I want to thank everyone who took the time to read and review this story; it always makes me smile when I see others enjoying my stories. 
> 
> A huge thank you to my beta, Darkness_Rising, who caught every little loose end I had forgotten to close up. This chapter wouldn’t have been as awesome without you! :D 
> 
> WARNING: This chapter contains past memories/thoughts of rape encounters as well as a present rape. If you do not like this sort of thing or uncomfortable with this, please do not read this chapter. You have been warned. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own only my OC’s, nothing else.

**Important Information**

“Blah” Speaking

::Blah:: comm. link

**_‘Blah’_** bonded speech

‘ _Blah_ ’ thinking

 

**Astrosecond** \- 2.5 earth Seconds

**Klik** \- 150 earth seconds/ 2.5 earth Minutes

**Orn** \- 150 earth minutes/ 2.5 earth Hours

**Joor** \- 60 earth hours/2.5 earth Days

**Metacycle** \- 17.5 earth days/2.5 earth Weeks

**Vorn** \- 10 earth weeks/2.5 earth months

**Stellercycle** -30 earth months/2.5 years

**Breem** -slang for a moment/minute.

**Night Cycle** : star down to star up

**Day Cycle** : Star up to star down

 

()()()

Sunstreaker lent against the wall in his quarters as his legs sprawled across his berth, drawing pad on his knees. The golden lambo former was watching the vicious storm that raged outside, putrid acid rain falling from the fat clouds in the sky.

Bright white/blue lightning flashed from the sky, lighting his room in bright light before fading back to black. Sunstreaker sighed deeply before turning his attention back to the drawing pad in his lap; small drawings of the most important mechs in his life were doodled across the page.

Sideswipe, his red twin who was currently deep in recharge in his own room, was obviously there. In one drawing the crimson Autobot was smiling and grinning up at him, in another he was arching in pleasure as invisible servos made him moan and writhe.

Bluestreak was there too, smiling and grinning just like Sideswipe was. One image had that lustful look on the other’s face when he was turned on, then a darker one showed the look of fear when he woke from a bad memory purge; the little gunner had been their long time lover, accepting the twins for who they were, what they were.

After the war, Bluestreak had been so very worried that the twins would drop him but the Praxian had wormed his way into the sparks of both of the twins and neither was willing to let him go. The three of them had even talked about bonding before the _other_ mechs they had come to, dare to say it… _love…_ were literally dropped into their lives.

The golden plated warrior frowned, a bad taste in his mouth as he looked down at the drawn versions of the Decepticons that were their responsibility. Sunstreaker didn’t like the word _slave_ but it really was what they were, no matter how well the frontliners and the gunner treated them.

Then there were the heat cycles that struck every bloody metacycle? The whole thing as sickening and it disturbed not only Sunstreaker, but Sideswipe and Bluestreak too at seeing the powerful ‘Cons fall under the power of the coding. All they could do was watch as who they were, was drowned out and replaced with a submissive sex slave that couldn’t say no.

It was as if who they were had been scooped out of their frames and a submissive creature was shoved inside, waiting, wanting to be taken; it was rape, no matter how you cut it. No matter how willing their frames were, their choice was gone, and every bloody metacycle the Autobots they trusted the most were forced to essentially rape them in order to reset the Primus damned coding.

Sunstreaker hated it, it made him feel sick, cold, and he _despised_ Sentinel Prime for this. The other Prime may have found the forced submission a turn on, but the others hated it, and Sunstreaker honestly missed his mechs when they were under the heat’s spell.

If given half the chance, any of Optimus’s Autobots would gut Sentinel, even the quiet and compassionate ones, like Bumblebee or Hound, and leave his carcass to rust in the street. The amount of protective rage that now surrounded the surviving Decepticon’s was staggering.

Sunstreaker snickered as he flicked the screen on his data pad to look at the seeker drawing he had done, remembering how in the early days, one of Sentinel’s mech’s had made a pass at Thundercracker. The golden hued frontliner reminisced how Optimus’s blue optics flared white in anger and narrowed as the blue seeker politely rejected the advances.

Sunstreaker openly grinned a cruel, nasty smirk when he recalled how the same mech was put through a wall by Optimus Prime himself when he couldn’t take no for an answer, as he tried to corner the blue seeker. From that point on all, other Cybertronians avoided the seekers at all costs in fear of angering Optimus.

Laughing darkly, Sunstreaker flicked the page on the pad again, and frowned sadly as Shockwave’s drawing came up. The lambo had actually felt bad for the former scientist; he had been through so much, and what had happened afterwards...

Sunstreaker shook his helm, dislodging the memories. Soundwave had been so crushed by what happened, had stopped fuelling for orns in depression. The pair had been together right from the get go, and when Shockwave...

Again, Sunstreaker couldn’t think about it. Prowl and Jazz had been just as spark broken as Soundwave. They had honestly thought he was getting better, had honestly thought he would be okay one day, and the pair had hidden themselves away with Soundwave and the symbiots for over a vorn while they mourned and healed.

After, _the incident_ , the Autobot sub commanders guarded Soundwave and his symbiots jealously and with the same vicious intent as any bond mate and creator. As far as they were concerned, Soundwave and his little brood were part of _their_ family and as _their_ family, Primus have mercy on you if you were dumb enough to inflict damage of any kind of damage on any of them. All of Optimus’s Autobot’s knew not to mess with the second in command tactician and the third in command saboteur.   

Only once had, again, one of Sentinel’s femmes gathered the courage to get a little grabby with Soundwave and the femme had disappeared and still hadn’t been heard from. 

Sunstreaker sighed and shook his helm, bitterly amused. Only a fool would tangle with either Jazz or Prowl when they were feeling protective, and the frontliner was sure it was that protectiveness and love that had gotten Soundwave through his dark time.

The lambo switched the picture again with a lazy flick of a digit, half wondering that when the Decepticon’s were finally free of the heat, how long it would take Soundwave to bond to the other two; one didn’t have to be an telepath to see there was love there.  It was horrifying and sad that, just like all the others, the commanders were forced to take the mech when he was caught in the heat, when ordinarily he could be an equal lover.

Settling on the drawing he was looking for, Sunstreaker sighed sadly, the rain still pitter pattering against his window. The heat cycle would be coming up soon and Sunstreaker would be forced to take what had become so important to him.

Bitterness rose from the pit of his tank at the thought. Sunstreaker hated it, but he would not leave Vortex and Brawl to suffer in the middle of the heat. At first, when the Combaticons had fought the heat, the twins and Bluestreak were forced to wait until they broke down, one by one, and beg for help. 

Sunstreaker sighed as he looked at the drawing on the page; Swindle smiling up at him, waving with a crate tucked under one arm. Vortex and Blast Off curled up in the living room of their apartment, both deep in recharge. Onslaught sitting out on the balcony when he thought no one was watching, reading from a data pad. Then finally Brawl wrestling with Sideswipe, playing more than fighting.

Sunstreaker always drew them happy, relaxed and without their collars. A glimpse at the life they could have if Optimus had his way, the life they should have. He never drew them caught in the middle of the heat, it would be a betrayal to them, a betrayal of everything they were trying to accomplish.

The Combaticon’s never sought them out as berth mates outside of the heat like some of the Decepticon’s did, and Sunstreaker never begrudged them that. Instead, they put them to work, gave them something to do every day to occupy them, things that had an actual impact on their lives and helped improve it.

It was no surprise when Swindle and Sideswipe had started a tentative friendship; the crimson hellion was always making small business deals with the neutrals outside of the Autobot’s base, gotten so good in fact that Prowl had appointed Sideswipe as liaison between the neutrals and the Autobots.

Swindle, sick of being inside all day, had offered to go with Sideswipe and had actually been a massive help. Swindle could sell used oil to the best vendors if he wanted to (and had on a dare from Sideswipe) and helped get the needed product for half the price.

Their friendship had started over that and it was that level of trust that had led to Swindle always seek Sideswipe out during the heat cycle. Blast Off, after helping Sideswipe and Swindle move products about, developed a level of trust with Sideswipe so also sought the crimson devil out.

Sunstreaker smiled bitterly as his cold blue optics flicked to the picture of Vortex. There had been talk at first, about splitting the Combaticons up, making it easier to support the gestalt if they were apart. It had been Silverbolt who had spoken up, saying now was not the time to be splitting up the gestalt; they would be afraid, hurting and likely clinging on to the only source of comfort they had, the gestalt itself.             

The kid had been right. As the only surviving whole gestalt, the Combaticons had been like wild, abused animals. That had been the reason why Prowl assigned their team to Sunstreaker, his brother and Bluestreak. The twins had the size to deal with the larger Decepticons while Bluestreak was soft enough to talk to. It was a far from the perfect set up but they did well with what they had.

Besides, the Autobot’s gestalts were too young to deal with a group of volatile, dangerous, scared, hurting and emotionally destroyed mechs. Not that Sunstreaker was much better, but at least he could relate.

Optics softening, the Autobot remembered how damaged the Combaticons had been when they first came to their home. They were still so damaged but had come on in leaps and bounds to what they once were. Brawl had been the first to latch on to him. The tank had been caught in the middle of a memory purge, screaming for Onslaught to save him, begging _Sentinel_ to stop whilst sobbing about how much it hurt.

The only ones home at the time had been Vortex and himself but the ‘copter couldn’t deal with it, the phantom pains and memories echoing through the gestalt bonds had broken the ‘copter just as badly. Sunstreaker had burst into their shared room, half expecting to find Vortex trying to kill Brawl, systems humming and ready for a fight. However Vortex had been curled in a ball on the floor, clawed servos clamped over his audios while he rocked himself and hummed as loudly as he could, trying to drown out his team mate.

Brawl had been thrashing on the berth, struggling against an invisible attacker that was no longer there. Sunstreaker looked on in a panic from one Combaticon to the other, frozen in place. He had not been equipped to deal with that, could have done more damage. It was sheer fracking luck that Brawl hadn’t withdrawn further into himself.

In the end, Sunstreaker had done what he would have done for either his brother or Blue and he woke Brawl as gently as he could, ignoring Vortex for the time being as he focused solely on the tank. Whilst pressing a firm servo to his shoulder and calling his name, Brawl had woken, swinging for the fences and it had been Sunstreaker’s reflexes that had him deflecting the others unintended attack.

Snarling, Sunstreaker had pinned the other to his berth in an attempt to ensure he didn’t attack again, which just made things worse. The tank panicked and fought him like a wild thing, kicking and screaming, sobbing to be let go.

Brawl’s already stressed systems couldn’t take the extra pressure, couldn’t take the frontliner’s extra weight on his chest and Sunstreaker knew it, knew he needed to calm the other, but he also knew if he let the tank go, he would attack again.

The smaller Decepticon bellowed and sobbed, calling for Onslaught again to save him and it nearly broke Sunstreaker’s darkened spark, remembering his own dark days as a youngling in the pits of Kaon.

Sighing, Sunstreaker could still vividly see the look on Brawl’s face, could see the honest fear in the other’s optics when the golden Autobot finally just snapped and screamed at him, bellowed out the tanks name. Guilt and shame filled the Autobot, but it had done the trick, it had snapped Brawl from his memory purge. Sunstreaker hated to remember but he couldn’t stop the memory. 

_Brawl looked up at Sunstreaker’s angry face through teary orange optics normally hidden behind his visor; his whole frame shook and shuddered after the other screamed out his name._

_“S…Sun…Sunny?” The tank had mumbled, the first time he had called Sunstreaker by his hated nick name._

_Gruffly Sunstreaker nodded. “Yeah, it’s fine Brawl.” The golden mech paused before adding “You’re, uh…you’re safe. Sentinel isn’t here.”_

_Optics shone in pain and horror as he broke down again, the boxy frame squirming uncomfortably beneath golden plating. Moving slowly, Sunstreaker pulled his frame from Brawls, helping the other to sit up._

_The tank curled into himself, burying his face into his knees as he broke down and sobbed. Sunstreaker sat on the berth, still as a statue, Brawl sobbing beside him, Vortex still rocking on the floor by his own berth and Sunstreaker had no idea what to do._

_Brawl shook and shuddered, remembering every dirty, horrible, nasty thing Sentinel had done to him, and all Sunstreaker could do was sit like a tool on the berth and be unhappy. The frontliner bit his lower lip in thought. They had promised Prowl and Optimus that the Combaticon’s would be safe with them, that they would protect them no matter what._

_The thought of protection had given the equally damaged frontliner an idea as how to calm Brawl. Placing a gentle servo on a dark shoulder, Sunstreaker gathered his thoughts._

_“Brawl, Brawl look at me.” Sunstreaker had said gruffly, keeping is servo still._

_The dark tank glanced up, fresh fear still lingering in the orange orbs, vents hitching in suppressed sobs. Once he had the Combaticon’s attention, Sunstreaker continued, trying to display his usual cockiness and confidence. “Who’s tougher and meaner than me?”_

_Confusion flooded the glassy optics and Brawl sniffled. “What?”_

_“Who is tougher and meaner than me?” The front liner asked again._

_The tank, still shuddering, had paused, his vents hitching. “N…no one?”_

_A grin spread across the frontliner’s face, despite the fear of not knowing if this was going to help that rolled inside him. “Right. Now, if no one is tougher than me, and it’s my job to protect you, who is going to hurt you again?”_

_Brawl looked down at his clenching servos as he shrugged. “I dunno.”_

_“No one.” Sunstreaker said firmly, knowing that the tank’s full attention was on him. “No one will hurt you again. So long as you live here, no one will hurt you. You are safe here.”_

_The Decepticon’s vents hitched again and Sunstreaker continued. “And if_ anyone _touches you, or hurts you, I will_ fucking _kill them.” Brawl’s optics widened at the human curse, but Sunstreaker was on a roll. “I will rip out their spark and play hacky-sack with it. Alright!?”_

_Shock ripped through the tanks EM field as he nodded. “But...but won’t you get in trouble?”_

_A nasty smirk spread across the frontliner’s mouth. “You really think they’ll find the remains?”_

_Brawl blinked up at Sunstreaker before the tears dried up, an equally nasty grin spreading across his face, though the shaking didn’t stop. “Plenty of ways to dismember a frame.”_

_Sunstreaker grinned back, gently chucking the others chin. “That’s the spirit. Now, help me get Vortex off the floor.”_

_Brawl nodded, now eager to help, eager to forget. “Will you stay until the others get back?” The tank asked as he scrubbed at his face._

_Standing, Sunstreaker studied the other for a moment, uncomfortable that he had suddenly become a source of comfort to a damaged Decepticon. “Sure kid. Let’s just get Vortex off the floor first.”_

Sunstreaker shook the memory from his processor. After that little incident, Brawl had become Sunstreaker’s second shadow and although annoying at times, the Lamborghini didn’t have the spark to tell him to go away. Not after he had basically promised him that he was safe and Vortex, who had from day one followed Brawl around, now stuck to Sunstreaker as well.

The golden mech had no clue as to why the crazed ‘copter had latched on to him as well, but Sunstreaker didn’t question it. It calmed the ‘copter to be near him and Brawl, maybe because Sunstreaker had been the first to step up to the plate and offer comfort to Brawl. Luck of the draw really.  

After that Brawl and Vortex only ever came to him during the heat, seeking _his_ touch to reset the programming.  

Sunstreaker chuckled as he glanced back down at his drawings. Brawl and Vortex came to him, Swindle and Blast Off would turn to Sideswipe and Onslaught went to Bluestreak. Sunstreaker wasn’t going to lie to himself, the first time his little Blue had bedded the Combaticon commander, Sunstreaker had panicked, had feared for the little gunners safety.

As always though, Bluestreak’s happy disposition and cuddliness won out and _somehow_ , Sunstreaker had no idea how, the gunner had won Onslaught over. There was some form of trust between the two, and although Bluestreak still loved his twins, he loved Ons just as much.

Sunstreaker smirked, thinking how hot it would be to watch Bluestreak frag Onslaught into the berth; the gunner really could do the most _amazing_ things with his digits. If only the slave programming hadn’t been involved, Sunstreaker thought bitterly, angrily, if only things were different, if only Sentinel Prime had never gotten involved.    

A soft knock at the door drew Sunstreaker’s attention from his dark musings. “What.” He bit out, knowing that his house mates were used to it.

The door swooshed open and an unusually hesitant and fidgety Vortex stood at the opening. The lambo former frowned at the Combaticon, lazily flicking the picture again. “What do you want Vortex?”

The ‘copter shrugged at the coldly spoken words, used to Sunstreaker’s abrasive personality, thought it was _cute_. His rotors flicked and shuddered at his back as he took a step into the Autobot’s living space, not waiting for the invite he knew would never be extended but knowing the other didn’t really mind.

“It’s raining.” The Decepticon answered blandly, as though that answered the question.

Snorting, the Sunstreaker looked back down at his drawing of Prime, there was something wrong with the face, and it was irritating him. “I can see that. I’m sure if you wait, you’ll see lighting.” The sarcasm was dripping from the Autobot’s voice.     

Vortex wouldn’t tolerate pity, so Sunstreaker treated him no differently than all the others in their home. The ‘copter sighed again, long and tired before he stomped to Sunstreaker’s berth and ungracefully flopped down.

Sunstreaker hissed as his arms were jostled, his drawing ruined just a little more. Vortex ignored his Autobot protector, laying his helm weakly against a golden thigh, pedes dangling off the berth like a spoilt sparkling.

“Permit just came in.” There was more sulk to his tone than bitterness than Vortex would have liked, but at the moment he didn’t care. Sunstreaker had seen him at his weakest, had seen him scared and vulnerable and unable to say no. So really, what was a little bit of sulking after that humiliation?

The Autobot sighed, and shifted his frame, silently opening his arms in an offering that Vortex wouldn’t refuse. The Combaticon pulled himself up further along Sunstreaker’s frame, dropping heavily onto him; audio pressed again golden chest plates, listening to the steady hum of power from the other’s spark.

Drawing forgotten, Sunstreaker turned his attention outside with a dark scowl, one arm wrapped tightly around the ‘copter’s waist, digits brushing the quivering rotors while the other wrapped around his shoulders, servo resting on the back of the dark helm.

“Sorry.” Sunstreaker muttered bitterly as he cocooned the Combaticon’s frame in his hold.

A shoulder shrugged and hunched as the Decepticon pressed in tighter to the golden frame, the need to fly practically oozing through his ragged EM field.

The flight permits were just one more way for Sentinel Prime to control the Decepticons; bastard was grasping at straws, but it worked. After the Autobots, Optimus’s Autobots, had taken control over the well being of the surviving Decepticon’s, Sentinel did everything in his power to make it _just_ a little harder on them.

The first had been randomized program checks. Early on it had been Jazz who had suggested that they just remove the programming or at very least the codes that triggered the heat. There would be no need to tell Sentinel, after all, what the other Prime didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.  It had been a very promising thought, Ratchet had been sure with the saboteur’s help he could have removed the programming entirely.    

It would have been a lie, would have gone against the deal, the dirty bargain that had been struck between the two remaining Primes. It would have been _very_ un-Autobot like, yet as Jazz had argued, it would have been even worse to stand by and let the travesty continue; the _Autobots_ would take the chance and bring peace to the Decepticons. 

Sentinel had optics and audios everywhere, it would seem. It had been not long after that, that Sentinel Prime had demanded random screening of the Decepticons to ensure the programming was still in effect.  Sunstreaker could still remember the look of pure hate Jazz had on his face as Sentinel had chosen Soundwave as the first to check, the other mech grinning back at them with some sick form of a joke.

The random checks continued, and at least once a metacycle some poor ‘Con was dragged into Sentinel’s lair, his processor torn apart whilst the other Prime had his mechs go through his coding. Sentinel thought it was a joke and it left the Decepticon victim wrung out and exhausted.

Prowl had studied who was taken, looking for any sort of pattern that they could use to their advantage. The Autobots thought that if Prowl could figure out the pattern then they could at least turn off the heat programming long enough to buy some peace and turn it back on during the exam. Yet, much to the tactician’s dismay, not even he could detect any sort of a pattern. It was completely random. The fact that Starscream was examined every cycle for a metacycle along with two other Decepticons was proof of that.

It would be too risky to remove the programming as their carefully set house of cards would all come tumbling down if even one Decepticon was caught without that programming. So it stayed, but the Autobots still found ways to fight back, as best they could.

Jazz and Mirage tore through every room in the base, every apartment, every quarter, every rec room and found every single bug or listening device the other Prime had installed. Sentinel would have to be a fool if he thought that the _special ops_ mechs weren’t constantly searching for them, finding them, feeding him false information.

So the game began anew. Sentinel fought to get the Decepticon’s back, Optimus fought to keep them as safe as they could. Secretly, the science and medical teams worked to develop a program that would nullify the heat program, but still make it appear as though it still worked. The problem, from what Sunstreaker understood, was that under scrutiny, holes could and would be found.

If it was to work, the program needed to be absolutely perfect and sadly, they just hadn’t perfected it yet. Thus, the heat cycles continued and the Decepticons humiliation continued while the Autobots did their best to cope, all waiting for just the right patch to be worked out that could trick Sentinel and put the heat programming into dormancy.

Digits soft on the back of Vortex’s helm, Sunstreaker sighed as he came back to the permit issue. It was beyond ridiculous, but a cruelly clever way for Sentinel to extend some control over the flying Decepticons; as if what he did to them wasn’t enough!

The permits were issued, only upon request and approved every damned joor for flight capable Decepticons. Flyers, even rotaries like Vortex, needed to fly. They needed to take to the skies and soar along the swells and air current. It was part of their core programming, part of who they were in the most basic of ways. To take away a flyers right to fly was nearly as bad as the rapes they had suffered at the hands of Sentinel Prime; it was the biggest reason most seekers had joined Megatron in the very beginning.

It was a slap in the face, and everyone knew it. Sentinel thought it was amusing that they went to war to protect their right to fly, only to be grounded after losing the war by the same fraction that now struggled to keep them safe.

Sunstreaker hated it, despised it and was just another reason on the ever growing list of _why Sentinel Prime needs to die._

“Sorry ‘Tex.” Sunstreaker said again, cradling the Decepticon against his chest. Vortex didn’t fight him, he gave up the fight a long time ago and he let himself be held.

The rotary just sighed and allowed the Autobot to stroke his rotors in a comforting way. Sunstreaker had heard rumors, stories, that before the end of the war, Vortex had been a bit of a, as the humans would say, Casanova.

Rumor had it that he could get any ‘bot he wanted at any time he wanted, and had the berth-room skills to back up those tall tales. That was before the Combaticon’s time with Sentinel Prime. Now Vortex couldn’t tolerate being touched by anyone he didn’t trust, cringing if another so much as brushed up against his plating if he didn’t want the touch; it was why Sunstreaker’s touches stayed soft on his rotors and the back of his helm.

The golden Autobot knew that the ‘Con trusted him with his frame, his very life and Sunstreaker wouldn’t do anything foolish to break something so delicate. Sunstreaker would never take a chance to touch inappropriately, to grope at the delicate plating between his legs, knew the Decepticon couldn’t tolerate the touch, except when he had to during the heat, but even then it was barely tolerated.

So the Autobot kept his touches chaste, gentle, everything that Sentinel and his men had not offered. Laying his cheek along the top of Vortex’s helm, Sunstreaker sighed and let his processor chase down that thought while Vortex slowly relaxed in his hold, softening against him.

Sentinel Prime, like all the others, had known about the rumors that surrounded Vortex. Knew that the ‘copter liked to interface, was particularly good at it and the slagger took a sick sort of joy in making Vortex suffer because of it.                

Sometimes Vortex would tell Sunstreaker what had happened as he would break down after the heat was cured for another metacycle, telling the Autobot the horrors he had suffered at the servos of a Prime. They didn’t just rape him during the heat, but would do it all the times in between, made his team watch, made him perform sexual acts on them. 

It was just another form of degradation, of humiliation. They would even share him, tell Vortex he was no better than a whore, that he liked it and that he deserved it. It hurt him, the Decepticon had told Sunstreaker once, more than anything else in the world had. They had taken something he enjoyed, something he really liked, something that he was _good_ at that didn’t involve hurting someone else and turned it against him. That was what had made Vortex so wild in the beginning, like a savage beast, he simply didn’t want to be touched anymore.

That was where Sunstreaker’s second list came from, one he affectionately called _mechs and femmes that desperately need to die_. Anybot who touched the Combaticons would die and the frontliner didn’t care what their status was, or who they were, if they hurt one of the Combaticons they would die. That much Sunstreaker was sure of.

He already had the names of six mechs and two femmes on that list and it was slowly getting longer. Suppressing a snarl, Sunstreaker gently rubbed at the ‘copter’s helm, trying to wash away the damage done. The Autobot could remember the first time Vortex had reacted badly when spotting one of his previous abusers, could still feel the actual fear and hate that ripped through his EM field. Sunstreaker could still see Vortex freezing in place while on their way down to the store on his day off to get energon goodies from one of the neutrals.

He could remember the smug look on the femme’s face as she walked by, her green optics flicking over Vortex’s frame as if what she had done to him was okay, that she was proud of it. Such a brief interaction and it had destroyed all the work that Sunstreaker had done up to that point, had sent Vortex into such a state of rage that Sunstreaker was sure he would kill either himself or everyone around him.

Vortex’s next movement happened in a blur as bad timing allowed for one of Sentinel’s Elite Guards to walk by just as the rage took over the Decepticon’s processor. Before anyone realised, the Combaticon had managed to disarm the Autobot guard, waving the weapon about wildly in fury, not in the least bit mindful at whom he aimed at.

In the end, it had been Bluestreak, little gentle Bluestreak who had talked Vortex from the edge, talked the gun from his servo and calmed him down before the programming in the collar clamped around his neck, could kick in, heating and disabling circuits.

The Praxian had to prise the blaster from the Decepticon’s trembling servo as Vortex raged and seethed; deeply hurt at what had been done to him, furious that there was nothing he could do to exact his own revenge. Amongst it all he was embarrassed that he was forced to rely on the good will of others when he had never handed out any good will of his own; not sure if his new Autobot protectors could be trusted, or if it was all a sick ruse.

Bluestreak had never let them down, and hadn’t yet when it came to soothing hurt feelings and emotional turmoil. The young gunner was not as whole as others might like to think, but he was far more together than the others in their messed up little home.

It had been after, when the embarrassed guard had been convinced not to tell, and the trip to the shop all but abandoned, and the Autobot’s quick return to their apartment did Vortex stomp off to his own room locking Brawl out while he calmed down. Sunstreaker had gently knocked on his door, amazed that he had been let in, and Sunstreaker had not squandered his chance.

The golden frontliner had sat the ‘copter down, held his servo tightly and in a quiet, soothing voice, promised the crazed Decepticon his revenge. Vortex had calmed down nearly instantly, focusing on the frontliner as Sunstreaker vowed to help Vortex kill _anyone_ who hurt him or his team. The ‘copter was giddy with excitement, and it was often that thought alone that got him through the worst nights and heats.        

Instead of sweet nothings, it was promises of revenge, oaths of spilt blood that Sunstreaker would whisper in the Decepticon’s audio; for every soft touch the Autobot gave, he swore a promise of destruction with it.

Those oaths, those promises were what kept Vortex from just killing himself. He was mentally disturbed, broken and damaged, hurt beyond understanding. The frontliner tried, really tried to make it better for Vortex, tried to repair the damage done but was never really sure if he was doing the right thing. Sunstreaker knew that, and the Autobot was sure that if Optimus ever discovered his vow, his Prime would be so disappointed, but the golden frontliner didn’t know what else to do.

Sighing, Sunstreaker let his processor come back to the present as he held the quivering ‘copter, his need to fly palatable in his EM field. The rain was beginning to slow outside so maybe they’d get lucky enough for Vortex to be able to go out for a nice long night flight before recharge. If not, it would undoubtedly be a long restless night for the pair of them.

The acidic rain pitter pattered slowly against the protective glass, slowing...slowing...

Sunstreaker hoped it would stop, prayed it would stop.

The last droplet of acid finally pinged against the window and for a moment, Sunstreaker stopped venting, waiting. Making sure the flyer wouldn’t get caught in acid rain if they went out. Vortex’s need to be air born flared against Sunstreaker’s EM; the ‘copter’s EM was ragged and torn, weak against the other’s.

Sunstreaker waited for just a breem longer, a rare smile gracing his handsome face. “Rain’s stopped.” He said softly, rousing the heli-former.

Joints creaking, making the frontliner frown and think it was time for a greasing, Vortex pushed himself up and out of Sunstreaker’s gentle hold as he looked out the window. “It’s too late to go out.” He said bitterly, pushing himself back to sit on his pedes.

Sunstreaker smirked and followed him up, being very careful to not touch the other’s plating. “It’s a good thing I never did follow the rules very well.”

Behind his mask, Vortex grinned back, his rotors vibrating with excitement at the prospect of taking to the skies again.

“Well let’s go then.” Sunstreaker drawled, masking his own joy at seeing Vortex do something that made him genuinely happy.

Laughing his dark creepy laugh, the ‘copter bounded off the frontliner’s berth and made a beeline for the door, disappearing around the corner. Sunstreaker’s helm shook in amusement as he followed his charge at a much more leisurely pace.     

By the time the frontliner got to the front door and collected the permit, Vortex was already in the hall, practically buzzing with excitement. Flying was one of the only joys the Decepticon had left and it was something Sunstreaker did his best to allow as often as he could.

The others in their home were already in recharge, peacefully unaware of the rule breaking that was about to happen, but in reality no one would have really cared when it came to Vortex’s shaky mental state.

“I’m going to outline a perimeter, stay in it this time.” Sunstreaker growled, the permit in servo, taping against his thigh.

As they entered the lift to go to the roof, Vortex sighed and rolled crimson optics. “It’s Okay, I learnt my lesson the last time didn’t I?” the Decepticon huffed, arms crossed as he lean back against the lift.

“Yes.” Sunstreaker huffed, crossing his own arms. “But you have a tendency to do dumb things.”

The lift climbed the apartment block and Vortex blinked at his protector. “You, Sunstreaker, the granddaddy of losing his temper, are lecturing me about not doing dumb things?”

Blue optics narrowed on the mocking Decepticon. “We’re not talking about me.” Sunstreaker growled, his vociliser rough. “I mean it Tex. Do you remember what happened last time you wandered too far out of the perimeter?”

“Yeah, I was there Sunstreaker.” Vortex snapped, his mood quickly darkening.

Sunstreaker snarled. “You were shot down by Sentinel’s mechs.”

“I recall.” Vortex sighed, claws tapping against his arm.

“You were then caught by Sentinel’s mechs.” Sunstreaker drawled on, annoyed at the Decepticon.

“And they ripped my rotors out of my hub. I remember.” Vortex sighed, bored with the conversation, looking away from the Autobot.

“And when I got there?”

“You pummelled the mechs that did it and put the whole lot of them into the med bay.” The ‘copter paused and chuckled, “Heh, that was pretty funny though.”

“It was not funny Vortex.” Sunstreaker snapped.

“They made wonderful noises when you bashed their faces in and the energon was so bright.” Vortex sighed happily, slipping into the madness in his processor.

Sunstreaker needed to drag him back to the light. “And do you remember me going to the Autobot brig for a metacycle?”

That startled Vortex enough to pull him from his dark thoughts. He remembered being caged along with the frontliner. “You wouldn’t let me go to medbay. You made Ratchet come to you.” The Decepticon said dully. “You were afraid that Sentinel would take me back while you were in the brig.”

Vortex could still remember the confusion that coursed through him at that time. He could feel Sunstreaker’s protective rage over him, the need to protect _him_ like some kind of savage beast caught in a jealous battle.  The ‘copter could remember hurting from his injuries, but he felt safe and secure while Sunstreaker’s rage wrapped around them like a shield, a veil, protecting him from the dangers outside of it.

“And what did Prowl say to us?” Sunstreaker asked, struggling to remain calm.

Vortex sighed, shoulders hunching. “That he managed to talk Sentinel out of taking me away once, the likely hood of him doing it a second time was unlikely.”

“And do you want to back _there_?” Sunstreaker snapped, nastier than he meant to.

Vortex shot upright, rotors flaring out to make himself look bigger. “Never!” He snarled, insulted that such a question would be asked.

“Then stay within the perimeter.” Sunstreaker snarled, frame tense with annoyance as the lift doors opened, cool night air breezing in.

Vortex met Sunstreaker’s gaze, holding it, matching it; not afraid of the large frontliner in the least bit. Knowing that Sunstreaker held all the power, could order him to do anything he wanted, but knew the foolish Autobot would never do it. 

Angered flared trough Vortex; had the roles been reversed Sunstreaker would have been hurt, raped constantly and it confused the Decepticon as to why he wasn’t being treated the same way. He didn’t understand kindness, or gentleness or the damned Autobots need to protect them.

Snarling, the ‘copter snapped. “Why!? Why do you slagging care? It doesn’t make you better than us. You’re just fooling yourselves into thinking we care about you, that once these Primus forsaken collars are off we won’t gut you! To me, you’re all the same.”

To Sunstreaker’s credit, he didn’t flinch back but his optics grew cold and his face hardened. That was how Vortex knew he had struck a chord, had hurt the frontliner in only the way he could and the former interrogator felt a thrill of victory shoot through him.

It was short lived as something else, something that made Vortex feel bad, feel small and as cruel as Sentinel, guilt maybe, followed the victory. Feeling hollow, dead inside, Vortex turned away, allowing himself to wallow in his self pity as Sunstreaker vented a sigh. The golden mech was trying so hard, trying for him when no one else in their right processor had; when no one really should have. He didn’t deserve it, wasn’t worthy of being saved or protected. 

Vortex had no illusions that if Sunstreaker, Sideswipe and Bluestreak had not agreed to help them, he and his team would have gone back to the detention center. There were so few Autobots that were willing to help them, they were crazy at best, homicidal at worse. Why would anyone even want to help them?

Vortex wilted, bitter and angry, but mostly confused. No one should want to help them, his team wasn’t destined to survive the war, wasn’t meant to be happy and live peacefully and they certainly weren’t meant to have soft touches, delicious energon goodies, or...or other’s to care about them. They were meant to die on a battle field, in a horrible, twisted way full of agony and pain; they should have gone out in a blaze of glory. Not survive to first be some Prime’s pet, then some Autobot’s mission.  

Yet, Vortex could remember as the trio of Autobots stood before Sentinel Prime and demand their release, demanded that the Combaticons be handed over to them; fighting just as fiercely for them as if they were fellow Autobots.   

Even after so long with the twins and Bluestreak, Vortex still didn’t understand their obsessive need to protect and save them and because he didn’t understand it, he didn’t like it and had no idea what to do with the kindness.

Sunstreaker’s soft venting drew the Decepticon away from his thoughts, and the frontliner took a step out of the lift and on to the damp roof. Quietly following the frontliner outside, Vortex was sullen and hunched as Sunstreaker led him to the edge of their apartment block.

Pointing out across the newly built Icon, Sunstreaker gruffly said. “The Autobot headquarters.” he flicked his arm to another point across the city. “Prime’s apartment.” Again, he flicked his arm to point at a different building. “Prowl and Jazz’s apartment and back here, that’s your perimeter.”

Vortex tossed his protector an unseen dirty look before he smoothly transformed and took to the skies, his rotors slicing through the air easily, lifting off. Sunstreaker growled, opening a comm. line to the Decepticon. ::I mean it Vortex, stay within the perimeter.::

::Fine!:: The ‘copter snapped back, his anger beating out the other unwanted feelings that warred within his dark spark. He didn’t want to feel the warmth that he got when Sunstreaker was kind to him, he shouldn’t feel that way.

He was a killer, an interrogator, a half mad, totally glitched creature of hate and pain and blood. He caused others to suffer, had ended the lives of others using agony and hurt like tools of an artist. Yet, when Sunstreaker helped him break the rules and allowed him to fly, bought him energon goodies just because, witnessed him at his lowest point imaginable with no judgment, Vortex felt something.

He felt something soft that had somehow survived eons of hate and bitter agony, hidden beneath the dark in his spark, and he did not like it in the least bit. Snarling to himself, Vortex let the feeling of his rotors slicing through the icy cold winds, stinging and hurting, take over his thoughts, the feeling of physical pain pushing away the emotional turmoil within.

He lifted into the night sky, away from Sunstreaker and his confusing feelings; away from the farce he called his life.

Sunstreaker sighed as he watched the Decepticon take off, rocketing to the far end of the perimeter as fast and as hard as he could. The Autobot watched him go, a frown set firmly on his lips. Out of all the Deceptions they were responsible for, Vortex was the hardest to reach, the one who didn’t understand what they were trying to do for him.

Not even Onslaught, distant and angry Onslaught or aloof Blast Off had such a hard time in seeing the positives in their new lives, even amongst all the bad. Scowling, Sunstreaker watched Vortex do his fast, hard laps around Icon, wondering how long until Prowl or Optimus would comm. him.

It was not a long wait for the frontliner, and as Vortex did his fourth lap, Prowl pinged for Sunstreaker’s attention.

::What?:: Sunstreaker snapped, blue optics following the ‘copter.

Prowl ignored his tone, jumping straight to business. Since Shockwave, he had been even colder, harder, expecting more of his mech’s as they struggled to keep the remaining Decepticons safe. ::Why is Vortex flying laps around Iacon?::

Sunstreaker shrugged, even though Prowl couldn’t see him. ::I told him he could.:: The frontliner replied easily. ::He needed it.::

::Did you learn nothing from your time in the brig?:: his commander hissed, angry. ::Do you really despise Vortex so? Do you really want Sentinel to take him back? Do you know what he will do to Vortex?::

Sunstreaker snarled, frame tensing and ready for a fight. ::Sentinel won’t touch him.:: the frontliner murmured, anger simmering beneath the surface. ::He won’t.::

Prowl went silent for a moment while Sunsreaker watched Vortex continue his laps, his anxiety and worry rising.

::Vortex living with you is a shaky state at best.:: Prowl said, his bland voice back to his normal calm self, ::Sentinel will find any way he can to take him from you and he will enjoy it Sunstreaker, he will humiliate Vortex and flaunt it in front of you. Do you understand this Sunstreaker?::

The Autobot was ashamed to admit he froze for a moment, fear ripping though his systems like a virus. He didn’t want to lose Vortex. He had promised the crazed ‘con that he would keep him safe, that no harm would come to him again, that they would exact revenge on those who did him wrong.

The thought of losing Vortex...

Rage and hate swept through after the fear. Sentinel wouldn’t touch Vortex again, nor would Sentinel’s followers. Sunstreaker had vowed that much, even if he had to kill the mech who tried to hurt the Combaticon. The frontliner had long come to terms with the fact he would one day slaughter Autobots on the behalf of Decepticons.

Fairly ironic, if one thought about it.  

::Sunstreaker, do you understand me?:: Prowl’s cool voice shook the frontliner from his thoughts.

::Yeah. I understand.:: Sunstreaker sighed back, crossing his arms across his chest like a moody sparkling.

::Good. Now, Sentinel is on his way to you as we speak.:: Sunstreaker stiffened at the words, frame and processor rising to a battle ready state. ::And you will remain calm Sunstreaker. Prime and myself are right behind him, but you must remain calm during this. Don’t give him a reason to take Vortex.::

::Yes Sir.:: came the strained, angry response from Sunstreaker.

Feeling Sunstreaker’s anger, Sideswipe woke, flooding the bond with worry and concern, asking if assistance was needed. Amusement and affection filled Sunstreaker’s side of the bond, silently telling his twin to be on standby.

Opening a comm. line to the Decepticon in the air, Sunstreaker said. ::Vortex, Sentinel Prime is on his way.::

Vortex had the right to be warned, needed to be prepared. He never reacted well when Sentinel was near him and from his position on the roof, Sunstreaker saw the Decepticon transform and spin around to look at him, no doubt glaring.

Even from a distance, Sunstreaker could see the clawed servos curling and uncurling. ::What the frag do you mean Sentinel’s on his way?::

Sunstreaker fought for patience, a test in itself. ::It’s fine Vortex. Prowl and Optimus are with him. Nothing’s going to happen. Just keep doing your laps.::

A broken snarl crackled over the comm. lines. ::But…::

::Vortex!:: _’Patience.’_ Sunstreaker thought to himself, _’Be calm.’_ ::He’s not going to take you. It’s okay, just keep doing laps. I’ll deal with him.:: He could see the helicopter hesitate, unsure, worried. ::I promise Tex. You’re okay.::

The Decepticon hesitated a little longer before transforming and going back to flying his laps, engine running harder, pushing himself faster, trying to escape the life he didn’t want.

Sighing, Sunstreaker settled, mentally preparing himself. He disliked dealing with Sentinel on the best of cycles, never mind when he was technically breaking the rules. It was too late for any flier to be in the air, permit or not.

Sunstreaker would get in trouble for this one, but as far as the frontliner was concerned, he’d gladly take the trouble to protect Vortex and ensure he had a proper recharge.

Sentinel burst through the doors of the apartment building lift, all rage and anger, hot optics glaring at the frontliner before glancing almost with want at the Decepticon in the air.

‘ _Keep dreaming slagger._ ’ Sunstreaker thought bitterly, knowing what was going through the bastard’s helm.

As Optimus Prime and Prowl came storming through the doors next, Sentinel pinned Sunstreaker with an angry look. “What’s he doing in the sky!?”

Sunstreaker gave a casual shrug, face blank. “I let him fly. He needed it.”

Sentinel snarled, daring to move closer to the frontliner. “Are you crazy!? He needed it? He’s a slagging ‘Con, he does what he’s told!”

Snorting, Sunstreaker gave an amused look. “Yes, and I told him to fly.” The frontliner dared to get closer to the older Prime, a smirk spreading across his face. “It makes him happy.”

Sentinel’s face contorted in rage. He didn’t want to see the Decepticons happy, he wanted to see them in pain, in chains, hurting and humiliated. Degraded.

“How dare you! Have you forgotten what that ‘Con has done, what he is capable of doing? And you’re letting him _enjoy_ anything!” Another sneer left the once commander. “And you call yourself an Autobot!”    

Sunstreaker snarled back, denta bearing like a wild thing. “I am an Autobot, _Sentinel_!” This wasn’t his Prime, he didn’t have to be respectful. “Perhaps you’ve just forgotten. And have you forgotten what _I_ have done in the war? No less than he has.” Vortex did another lap of the city, flying overhead, no doubt checking that Sunstreaker was fine. Prowl stepped between the two larger mechs, standing closer to the golden hued Autobot because of his own hatred of Sentinel. “That’s enough.” His tone was cold. “This will solve nothing.”

Sentinel glared at both Prowl and Sunstreaker, looking to Optimus to back him up. “His is breaking the rules, again. After that _last_ offence he should lose his slave! Clearly Sunstreaker cannot keep him under control!”

Hissing, Sunstreaker’s armour puffed in anger, Sideswipe now fully awake and alert over the bond. Optimus held a servo to the golden frontliner, he too now stepping between the older Prime and his frontliner. “That will not be necessary Sentinel. Sunstreaker takes very good care of Vortex.”

“Too good if you ask me!”

Sunstreaker snarled again, intending to say _we didn’t ask you!_ But Optimus beat the frontliner to the punch. “And Sunstreaker’s good care is what matters and if it was Sunstreaker’s decision, then it was Sunstreaker who broke the rules. This is of course, since he is the one who is in charge of Vortex’s well being, according to your own rules.”

The Prime’s words were pleasant enough, but made their point and Sentinel narrowed his optics; Vortex still doing his hard laps in the air.

“Prowl’s punishment will be a joke.” Sentinel snarled and the tactician’s wings shot high and angry. “Sunstreaker will not be punished sufficiently enough.”

“That,” came Prowl’s angry words, “is none of your concern. Sunstreaker is our mech, not yours. And unlike you Sentinel, I punish according to the crime.”

Sentinel’s bitter smile twisted his face. “I think the Decepticon’s got just what they had coming.”

Prowl’s optics flashed nearly red with anger, Optimus stiffened and Sunstreaker snarled in anger, hatred. Acidic retorts were at the tips of all three glossas, but all were held for the Decepticon’s sake; Sentinel Prime didn’t need to know how the Autobot’s _really_ felt about the surviving ‘Cons.

No doubt Prowl was thinking of Soundwave as Optimus thought of the seekers.

“That.” Optimus’s cold words came slow and deliberate. “Is not up for debate tonight.”

Sentinel snarled and took a step back. “So, it appears my presence is unnecessary and unwanted.”    

Prowl’s optics flashed again. “This is an Autobot matter, seeing as Sunstreaker is the one breaking the rules.”

Sentinel snarled softly at the implication that he was not an Autobot. “Then I suppose I shall take my leave since _Prowl_ seems to have gotten everything under control here.” A nasty smile spread across the old Prime’s face. “Glad to see you are able to control your mechs better than you could control your slaves Prowl. How is Soundwave since Shockwave pitched himself from your balcony window?”

Shock rippled through Sunstreaker, quickly followed by an old need to protect Prowl. With his engine revving high, Sunstreaker made a move as to attack, only to be stopped by Prowl.

Optics narrowed, Prowl’s voice was hard and cold. “Soundwave’s wellbeing is not your concern Sentinel. Nor is the wellbeing of my mechs.”

Sunstreaker felt like a wild dog on a chain, and the moment Optimus Prime or Prowl gave the okay, he was going to rip Sentinel apart, one limb at a time. The golden warrior knew just as well as the old Prime that, despite all he had done, Prowl had taken a liking to Shockwave.

The purple Decepticon had been lost without Megatron and abused so badly, one of the very worst, at the servos of sentinel. It had been Prowl who had managed to get close to him, get him to eat again, start talking again. While Jazz cared for Soundwave and his Symbiots, Prowl cared for Shockwave and when the ‘Con had killed himself, Prowl took it just as hard as the Decepticon’s former third in command.

Sentinel’s words were a slap to the face, as far as Sunstreaker was concerned and one that would not stand, but the frontliner always forgot, no one messed with Prowl and came out on top.

“Besides Sentinel.” Prowl’s words now had a kind, almost lyrical sound to them. “You no longer have slaves to be concerned about and you shouldn’t be worrying about mine.” Despite his tone, the words were like acid on Prowl’s tongue, but he was aiming to harm Sentinel. “You should be more concerned about the next party amongst your elite, if you can even handle _that_.”

As anger ripped through Sentinel Prime, Optimus moved so that if Sentinel attacked, he could get between the older Prime and his second.

::Everything okay down there?:: Came Vortex’s hesitant, worried voice.

::Everything‘s fine Tex. Keep flying.::

Vortex hesitated again, coming around to his building again once more. ::I think I’m done for the night.::

Sunstreaker glared at Sentinel. Vortex enjoyed so few things, and it irked him that Sentinel managed to disrupt this so badly. ::We don’t have to be.::

The golden mech could practically feel the Decepticon’s unease and hatred for the older Prime. Knowing he couldn’t defend himself if Sentinel wanted to hurt him. ::No, I’m done now.::

Sunstreaker sighed, optics still narrowed as he took a step back. ::If you’re sure.::

::I’ll be down in a moment.:: Vortex sighed, disappointed.

::Land close to me.:: Sunstreaker ordered, just as worried for Vortex’s wellbeing.

:Whatever.::

Sunstreaker hesitated, glowing optics mere slits of light. ::We can come back out tomorrow. Or Sides can come out with you and Blast Off.::

Vortex sighed again, not knowing what to do with the golden mech’s soft tone so merely repeated his last answer. ::Whatever.::

Sunstreaker ignored the helicopter’s snappish tone as he landed, coming in close behind Sunstreaker so that their EM fields meshed and mixed. A wave of hate washed over Sunstreaker from the Decepticon as he glowered at the older Prime, so strong that it nearly had the frontliner buckling.

Sentinel grinned at Vortex, blue optics flicking over the other’s frame, unashamed, proud. It nearly had Sunstreaker snarling and Vortex’s rotors flicked against the back of his legs. The only thing stopping the Decepticon from lunging at Sentinel was the programming that barely held him in place. 

How Vortex wanted that Autobot dead.

The smirking bastard had been the one who had pushed Brawl face fist into a berth and hurt him. Did the same to Swindle, made the con-mech cry and promised Blast Off that he’d never fly again while Sentinel hurt him at the same time, forcing Onslaught to watch; knowing he’d never save his team before Sentinel forced himself on the gestalt leader.

The Prime also made Vortex kneel and grovel while his team watched, knowing that none of them could ever save him.

Black rage swept through the Decepticon; his frame shook and his fists clenched. He wanted nothing more than to bury his claws into Sentinel’s throat and watch the energon flow out but the programming kept his pedes where they landed, and his fists by his sides.  

Sentinel grinned as Sunstreaker felt the ‘Con’s discomfort that seemed to roll off him in thick waves. A plan popped in the frontliner’s processor and he quickly opened a line to Vortex, ::You want to wipe that smile off his face?::

The heliformer jerked in surprise, forcing himself to keep his optics forward and focused on Sentinel. ::What do you have planned?::

Sunstreaker fought the smirk that begged to be released. ::Drop your battle mask.:: the frontliner said softly. ::And don’t freak out.::

Confusion flooded through Vortex but his optics remained firmly pinned on Sentinel. ::Why?:: come the hesitant reply, unsure.

::Just trust me. You’ll like this.::

The battle mask dropped, a silent snarl already on Vortex’s lips, baring sharp canine denta. Sentinel’s grin widened, remembering what he had forced that mouth to do meanwhile Sunstreaker had every intention of rubbing it in that Sentinel couldn’t hurt or even touch Vortex.

Turning to the Decepticon, knowing full well that Prowl and both of the Primes optics were on him, Sunstreaker closed the distance between them, coming chest to chest to Vortex.

Tensing, glancing up at the taller frontliner, his frame so still, Vortex opened the comm. again. ::What are you doing?::

::I’m not going to hurt you Tex.:: he glanced back at Sentinel with a smirk. ::This will piss him off.::

Turning back to the Decepticon, gently brushing his cheek with the back of his digits, Sunstreaker leaned a little closer, brushing lips against Vortex’s audio. “If you don’t want to, you just say it.”

Vortex relaxed, rotors loosening now that he had the choice to back out of the plan should he choose; choice was always so important when dealing with the Decepticons, and he leaned into Sunstreaker’s touch.

Grinning, Sunstreaker leaned down slowly, pressing his lips firmly against Vortex’s. The ‘copter, as a rule, was not soft. He took what he wanted, was harsh, was mean and hard but when he wanted to, Vortex would let himself melt, just a little, and right now that’s what he wanted.

Sighing, Vortex pressed into the golden mech, clawed servos sitting on black hips while Sunstreaker twined his arms around the ‘Con’s neck.

Sentinel balked and hissed while Vortex’s optics flickered shut and grinning into the kiss, Vortex flicked his glossa against the Autobot’s lips in a gentle lick before slipping his glossa inside. For a moment, there was nothing else in the world for the two kissing mechs, certainly not Prowl or the pair of dumb founded Primes that watched them.

As their glossas tangled and fought for dominance, a small window to what they could have had, had things been different, opened. Sunstreaker could see, almost taste the mech who Vortex used to be; the mech who didn’t flinch at an intimate touch or a brush of plating.

Just as quickly as the moment started, it ended and the Autobot and Decepticon pulled away from each other with a sigh. Grinning, Sunstreaker took the chance and taking advantage that Vortex’s mask was down to kiss the Decepticon’s nose, prompting the other to roll his optics.

“Autobot twit.” The ‘Con huffed, giving the frontliner a soft shove.

Smirking before turning to the commanders at his back, Sunstreaker retorted. “Whatever Tex. You’re all talk and no bite.”

“Take off this collar and I’ll show you bite.” Came the amused response.

Sunstreaker snorted, softly murmuring. “Given half the chance...”

Leaving the thought unfinished, Sunstreaker tuned back to his commanders, one arm still slung around the Decepticon. Sunstreaker kept Vortex pulled in close to his heavier frame, keeping his frame between Sentinel Prime and the ‘Con, still worried that the older Prime would antagonize, aim to hurt feelings since he couldn’t hurt Vortex physically.

Prowl stared at the frontliner with his usual dead pan look but his wings were high with annoyance. Optimus was staring at him too, a frown on his face, but Sunstreaker didn’t seem to care.

It was Sentinel who the frontliner focused on, the older Prime’s face was scrunched in annoyance and anger and before the older mech could make a sneering comment, Sunstreaker beat him to the punch. “Well, I’m just exhausted now Sentinel. We’ll be off for recharge now.” He grinned nearly sweetly. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow Prowl.”    

Icy blue optics narrowed on the Decepticon at his side, his mask still down, a nasty smirk spread across his face and digits wiggling in a mockery of a wave the pair brushed past the commanders and nearly fled inside.

Sunstreaker didn’t let Vortex go until they were in the lift, the door sealed shut and on the way back down to their level. The pair shared a look before laughter bust from both of them, unable to stop it. In the back of his processor, the Autobot knew that when Vortex laughed, it was a creepy sound, but Sunstreaker was just glad to hear it.

“He is so mad!” Vortex giggled, leaning back against the wall of the lift.

Untwining his arm from around the ‘Con, Sunstreaker chuckled. “I’m pretty sure Prowl is going to kill me for that.”

Still chuckling, Vortex shrugged. “Was worth it.” The Combaticon nodded, smirking. “Sentinel’s face was priceless.”

The helicopter nudged the Autobot with his elbow and smirking, Sunstreaker repeated the action back, the closest thing to an apology and acceptance the two would produce. It felt as though all the anger had been filtered from them, leaving them feeling relaxed, back to themselves again.

Settling down, Sunstreaker suddenly frowned. “He’s going to try and make us pay for this.”

Vortex snorted, settling against Sunstreaker’s armour, suddenly exhausted. “Bring it! What’s he going to do to us? Pfft, Sentinel is...what do humans call it? A pussy?”

“Something like that.”

“Then Sentinel is a pussy.” Vortex grinned up at the frontliner, far too amused by the whole situation. “And he’s not gonna do shit to us.”

Sunstreaker snorted, “Your bad grammar astonishes me Tex.” Vortex shrugged, still grinning, “And if he touches you, I will end his life.”

There was no joking in the frontliner’s tone; he truly would destroy anyone who dared hurt him. The confusion welled again, causing the Decepticon to frown, EM still meshing with Sunstreaker’s. Shrugging, Sunstreaker pressed his EM further against Vortex’s, letting him know it was okay. Vortex pushed back, his grin coming back.

Both were calm and confident in the fact that whatever Sentinel threw at them, they would handle it. Neither had dared guess that Sentinel would make them pay by attacking someone else in their odd little family.

()()()        

Onslaught walked down the street of Iacon, the Cybertronion sun shone high in the sky as he slowly made his way back home. Their Autobot guards had the day off from patrol and whatever they did during their shift; the war may be long over but the Optimus Prime was no fool.

The Autobot’s were still alive and well, their army strong. Only an over confident fool would disband their army when they won the war, there would always be other battles.

Today though, the Combaticon commander didn’t worry about that, he was determined to enjoy the cycle out. The air smelt clean, the metal of the buildings shone bright after the acid scrubbed them clean, the warm sun heating his armour.

Sunstreaker and Vortex were still recharging after the night’s excitement; when Onslaught had checked in on him, the interrogator was still curled in the frontliner’s hold, helm buried in the gold chest plates while Sunstreaker slept on his back.

Sideswipe had gone to the neutral district, taking Swindle with him on an errand for Sunstreaker to fetch him more paints. Ironhide had taken Brawl with him and Sixshot to the shooting range, something that the little tank was excited for.

Much to Onslaught’s amusement, Blast Off was left behind at the apartment with Bluestreak, ridiculously cute and cuddly Bluestreak. Poor Blast Off didn’t stand a chance and as Onslaught left the apartment, the shuttle had shot him the hardest, meanest glare he could manage while the little Autobot gathered the needed supplies to bake oil cakes.

Apparently, Bluestreak intended to share the recipe that Mirage had shared with him, an old one right from the Towers.

Onslaught had wisely found something else to do and made a hastily escape into the city. The permit that Bluestreak had to sign to allow the commander out on his own burned at his ego. It galled him that something so damaging to his self-worth, was so small that it fit in the sack he carried along with the other things that he had been sent out to purchase.        

Yet, Onslaught didn’t know which was worse, the permit that he needed to carry to be allowed on his own, or the extra creds that Bluestreak gave him for whatever he wanted. The Autobot was trying, tried to do nice things like this, let him buy something for himself, but it still felt like an acid wash to his spark.

He had never been given a damned hand out in his entire life, now he and his whole damned team were living on one hand out after another. It had been a slagging miracle that they had survived the war, the only Decepticon gestalt that made it out whole.

Then they became slaves, pleasure drones really, to Sentinel Prime. The proud mech could still remember the feel of Sentinel’s rough touch on his plates, inside his valve. Could recall vividly being forced to submit, could still feel the fear and pain of his team mate’s echoing through the gestalt bond.

It had been hardest on Vortex, the things they did to him, made him do. It still gave Onslaught nightmares, would wake him from a deep recharge, his plating shaking at the memories. When Sentinel had forced Vortex, Onslaught was always nearby. Close enough to touch, but never able to with his servos bound.

Somehow, Sentinel had known that Onslaught cared for Vortex just a little more than the others, that was why he forced the commander to be so close, to watch.

Pushing the thought from his helm, Onslaught refused to dwell on it anymore. If surviving the war had been a miracle, then the twins and Bluestreak coming to their rescue was something unnameable, something they were unable to understand.

Onslaught wasn’t going to question their good fortune as he didn’t have to submit to Sentinel Prime anymore, didn’t have to watch him brutalize his comrades and team mates anymore.

In comparison, a handful of extra creds were nothing to the pain that they had already faced so Onslaught had spent the creds that Bluestreak had given him, bought himself another data pad, bought a fictional story this time. He was sick of reading about history and battle tactics, it just depressed him further.

A sack slung over his wide shoulder plate, the energon chips and dips that the twins would make dinner with were tucked safely inside along with another refill for the energon dispenser. In his other servo, the recently purchased data pad held up for him to read as he walked.

Onslaught could almost pretend he wasn’t still essentially a slave trapped in a _pretty_ yet fake life, could pretend that Bluestreak and the twins actually cared about him and his team beyond some foolish sense of duty.

The sun was high and warm on his plating, he was going home and would have a fully prepared meal instead of plain energon and he could forget that in a few joors, the heat would force him to his knees once again.

Lost in his data pad, Onslaught let himself forget; grew comfortable as he took the usual route home, having done the walk more than a dozen times.

When the attack came, Onslaught was unprepared for it and cursed himself for his lack of readiness. There was no excuse for his lack of preparation, but living with the Autobots had made him soft, made him forget that there were those who would harm him, wanted to harm him.

As large as he was, Onslaught was hustled into a nearby ally. Kicking and spitting the ‘Con fought back, but only barley as the collar kept his true strength, his true brutality at bay.   He quickly lost the battle, the sack long gone, his data pad crushed beneath a large pede.

The mech who had forced him into the ally was larger than even him, a shuttle perhaps? Snarling, Onslaught forced his elbow back, trying to dent and damage the thin abdominal plating of his attacker, but the collar forced him to hold back the power of his punch, and the mech behind him barley grunted at the hit.

When his arms were twisted painfully behind him, wrists pinned to his lower back by a single servo, was when the panic hit the Decepticon like a rock wall. If the mech was able to pin _him_ he really had no chance of escape and the collar prevented him from truly attacking; he was helpless.

His attacker’s other servo slammed his face into the steel wall of the building he was pressed up against, grinding both his chest plates and face mask into the building wall, taking large gouges out of the paint in his armour, armour that Sunstreaker had painstakingly repainted.           

Onslaught snarled and struggled, prompting the other mech to press harder into his back, pressing his frame into the wall, trapping him. For the first time since coming out of Sentinel’s hold, Onslaught panicked; he was alone, out gunned and unable to fight back. Helpless while he was stuck between a much larger attacker and a wall.

Ego more bruised than his frame, the ‘Con was about to open a comm. line to Bluestreak, he wasn’t far from home so the little gunner would come and help him, again, something that galled the large Decepticon.  

A cold, cultured voice stopped him. “If you call your little Autobot Onslaught, you seal his fate as well.”

Sentinel Prime came from the other end of the ally, coming from the opposite direction that Onslaught had been dragged down. Servos placed almost elegantly behind his back, Sentinel sauntered up to the captured Decepticon, a cold smile on his face.

Dread filled his spark as the older Prime closed in, blue optics blazing on the larger ‘Con, narrowed in a kind of sick joy.

Onslaught struggled against his captor, trying to crane his neck to see the face of who attacked him, wanted to burn the image into his processor just so he would remember. The servo on the back of his helm pressed it harder into the wall, forcing Onslaught to look at Sentinel.

“And I would close your gestalt bond. I doubt you want them to feel this.” The nasty smile spread further across his face.

Despite the rolling panic, Onslaught’s optics remained cold and narrowed on Sentinel, his visor flaring in annoyance. The Combaticon knew what was about to happen, knew he was helpless to stop it so he snapped the gestalt bond closed, as much as he hated to admit it, Sentinel was right and they didn’t need to feel this. 

Rage boiled over and Onslaught saw red as the want to destroy the smirking Prime grew. Gentle digits, mocking as they brushed the commander’s battle mask, Sentinel leaned in close, “You can thank Vortex for this. He and his stupidity caused this Onslaught.”

Falling still, the Combaticon snarled, frame tense and angry. “Let me go. You have no right.”

Sentinel laughed darkly, digits working at his battle mask, finding the manual release with practised ease and removed it. His visor went next, leaving him open, exposed. “So, the little whore thinks he has rights. Please Onslaught you’re a glorified pet. Something pretty that Bluestreak can parade around to make Optimus and his Autobots look good.”

Careful digits petted at Onslaught’s bare cheek, making the larger mech snarl in disgust, in hate. Given half the chance the Combaticon would slaughter the Prime, make him suffer for all he had done.

“You’re nothing but something to increase his status in our new world, nothing more and I doubt any of them would even come to save you.”

A bitter smile cut across the Decepticon’s face. “Let’s call them and find out.”

Sentinel’s sick smile never left his face, but the mech that held him in place yanked the Combaticon back and slammed his unprotected face into the steel wall. He felt his nasal ridge break on contact, energon blood running from the broken nose like a small river.

Onslaught snarled, his frame tense and hot. Sentinel grabbed the commander’s helm with one servo, while he smeared the energon across Onslaught’s face, marking him, claiming him. “You will always belong to me Onslaught, no matter who you are spreading your legs for.”

Rage, hate and something else, dread maybe, flooded Onslaught’s spark and Sentinel went on, digits spreading his energon blood across his face. “Don’t ever forget that Onslaught. You’re my little whore, and no matter how far you run I will find you.”

Onslaught snarled, baring flat blunt denta at him, fighting to keep emotion from his optics as he tried to detach himself, tried to not let it bother him. The fact he no longer was in control of his own frame grated on Onslaught.

Sentinel drew closer to the Combaticon, fully intending to destroy him in every way possible. “I’ll leave you in Rook’s capable servos. I always get more of a kick watching you writhe, trying to pretend that it doesn’t bother you.”

The servo at the back of his helm disappeared as a large pede kicked his own pedes apart, forcing him to widen his legs, forcing them apart, arms still pinned awkwardly behind him. The servo that was once at his helm now pawed at the thick protective plating between his thighs.

Onslaught’s tanks churned and revolted, he wanted to be sick. Impotent rage raced through his lines and he craned his neck to stare into the bland blue optics of the mech behind him. Onslaught had been right, the large, heavy mech was a shuttle; heavier and bulkier then either Blast Off or Skyfire with a clashing paint job of bright orange and dull rusty red.

The collar at his throat began to glow red as it strained to keep him in place, burning the sensitive wiring and warming his energon uncomfortably. _Break_ , Onslaught pleaded to no one, _break you slagger_. If the collar snapped, melted and burned out, he’d be free to dismantle this _Rook_.

The servo disappeared from between his thighs to shove his face back into the cold wall of the building. Rook laughed behind him, servo trailing back to his interface panel. Onslaught snarled, his vents heating the side of the building, energon still trickling down his face.

Still he fought against the collar’s hold, fought the programming it was funnelling into his systems, forcing him to remain compliant. He tried to push his thighs back together, tried to struggle against Rook’s hard hold, all to no avail.

Electricity suddenly coursed through his frame, an old additive of the collar from their days with Sentinel. Fight too hard against the programming and you’d be suddenly filled with enough amps to drop you, it had been such a long time since he had felt the hard sting of current ripping through his systems, taking the fight right out of him.

“Oh I am going to enjoy this Onslaught. I’ve heard about you and your little rag tag team of misfits. A shame the ‘copter couldn’t be with us, but you’ll do, I suppose.” Rook’s cold, mocking voice whispered in his audio, “I’ve heard what you and your team are capable of, you deserve this.” There was such certainty in the shuttles voice, such conviction as he pawed at the other’s valve cover. “You’re a monster Onslaught, and you deserve this. This is your penance for all your crimes.” The shuttle shook his helm; his thick digits probing for the manual release while the anti aircraft vehicle snarled at him, the other’s words mocking in his audio. “And once you realise this, the sooner you will be at peace with yourself. Just accept your fate and it will be a much smoother transition for you.” 

He found the switch and roughly forced the panel back, a thick digit probing at his unaroused valve. “Your new masters aren’t helping you either. They are too soft on you so you’ve forgotten your place.”

The voice was almost sincere and it enraged Onslaught all the more. “You’re glitched! Nothing but a bit processor, sick glitch! No one deserves this!”

Rook frowned behind him before leaning forward to bite Onslaught’s collar armour enough to tear the metal. The Decepticon hissed and bucked against his attacker, trying to throw him off but lapping up the welling energon, almost gently, Rook sighed in Onslaught’s audio. “If only you’d submit, this wouldn’t have to happen like this.”

The deranged Autobot actually sounded like he regretted the ‘Con’s resistance and it disgusted Onslaught all the more. “Go fuck yourself!”

Rook sighed and pushed his bright orange digits inside the dry valve, rough and scrapping. Onslaught swallowed the hiss of pain and remained completely silent. Gathering control of his himself, he tried to get his frame to stop staking. 

Onslaught shut down, forced his frame to relax through sheer force of will, just like he had back at Sentinel’s compound. His optics clouded over, dulling as he retreated into his own processor. He separated himself from his frame, refused to feel the pain, the agony of what was happening; he’d feel it later, alone, when he was safe in his own quarters.

He’d fake being sick, Onslaught thought through the haze as his processor shut down. Bluestreak would bring him dinner and likely sit with him for the evening. It would be quiet and normal. Like nothing was amiss. He wouldn’t have to tell the Praxian what happened. No one would ever have to know about this weakness, this event. It would be just another shameful secret of his sordid past.

In the back of his processor, Onslaught knew that Rook was lining up his spike, saying something to him but it was all lost to the Combaticon as his frame became numb, his processor locking itself away from the situation.

He was only slightly aware of the movement behind him, how his knees suddenly wanted to give out, at the warm wet feeling that trickled down his thighs. Another part of his processor categorized it under injuries, a broken energon line somewhere inside, his valve opening torn. That could be dangerous if left unattended and would result in him having to tell Bluestreak.

Onslaught’s well organised processor filed the injuries away, working out how best to repair them without telling anyone of what happened. It was embarrassing enough that it was happening at all, no need for anyone else to know. Onslaught knew that wherever Megatron was, he was laughing at him.

Working out his repairs kept his processor busy and only helped him to ignore the thrusting mech behind him. His shoulder joints would need to be reset, the cables in his arms realigned, the tear in his collar armour patched, armour repainted. The list just went on.

Sharp pain suddenly shot through him as Rook slammed into the top of his valve, the only lubrication he got was from the energon that slicked down his thighs. It caused even Onslaught to gasp in pain, his frame bucking away from his attacker and the pain.

Just as quickly he shut down again, forcing his processor to ignore the pain, ignore it all. Keep categorizing injuries, keep busy. Maybe if he was lucky he would be able to get a hold of some kind of salve. There would be metal burn after this and no doubt the area would expand as his self repair systems tried to heal the injuries. Human’s would call it _swelling_ , an appropriate word for what would happen. The area would be hot and tender, just another thing he would have to cope with.

Suddenly the frame behind him stopped thrusting, tensing before Rook overloaded hard into his valve, transfluid shooting into him in three powerful spurts, burning like acid on his raw valve walls. He grunted, digits digging into his own palms as Onslaught tried to ignore the over whelming feeling of filth.

Rook pulled out of him roughly, releasing Onslaught’s thick wrists and stepped away from the Combaticon. His servos snapped up to brace on the wall he leaned against, trying to keep his knees from giving out underneath him.

He felt weak and wobbly, as if Devastator had just punted him like a football. All his strength had drained from him and he was panting hard, his fans working to cool his systems. He hadn’t realised that he was doing that.

The awareness was creeping back into his processor along with the pain. Everything hurt, everything burned in some way while transfluid and energon streaked down his thighs.

However he still managed to snarl as Sentinel approached him, dropping his battle mask and visor at his still spread pedes. He snapped his cover shut, pain echoing through his frame at the rough action, as Sentinel leaned even closer to his uncovered face. “Enjoy your next heat session Onslaught.”

The commander managed to keep his snarl plastered on his face as Sentinel backed away from him, smirking. He wouldn’t show the bastard any form of weakness, wouldn’t give in to his desire to sink to his knees and rest. Not until Sentinel was long gone.

Rook picked his way around the large Decepticon, patting the other’s shoulder with a smirk as he went to follow Sentinel. “Until our next session.” He whispered, dragging a digit along Onslaught’s energon covered face.

Smirking Rook sucked the spilt energon off his own digit, making sure that the Combaticon watched his every movement before he sauntered after Sentinel, leaving the way the old Prime came.

It was only when both Sentinel and Rook had disappeared back into the busy streets of Iacon, and giving himself a full breem just in case they came back, did Onslaught sink to the ground. His knees gave out, exhausted, hurting and he allowed himself a moment of reprieve.

He pressed his forehelm into the wall as pain rippled through him, shock piercing his processor. His frame began to tremble from his injuries and he forced himself to stop.  He took a deep intake of air, then another before he accomplished his goal and his servos stilled.

Forcing himself to turn over, Onslaught pressed his back into the wall as he grabbed the sack he had been carrying. Yanking it open he dug around the energon he had in there, yanking out a cleaning rag. He knew there would have to be one in there as Sunny had the damn things everywhere. 

Drawing on his inner strength, knowing that Sentinel hadn’t broken him as much as he liked to think, Onslaught cleaned his thighs, erasing the evidence that he had been over powered and forced. He winced when his own digit brushed the seam along his interface panel but he refused to let the hiss of pain escape. Once done, he tossed the rag. It landed next to his destroyed data pad the Combaticon noticed with disinterest.

He pressed his mask back into place, not bothering to clean his face as it clicked into place, sitting awkwardly as it pressed painfully against his broken nose. He visor clicked into place next and he forced himself to his pedes and slinging the sack over his shoulder, he limped home. He tried to ignore the sting and burn to his valve, praying that his roommates wouldn’t be around and he’d be able to get to the washroom before he had to deal with them.

Shutting down his emotions, the Combaticon ignored the feelings of disgust, of hurt, of disgrace. He would go home and pretend it never happened, trying not to think of Sentinel’s words, _enjoy your next heat session_.

Onslaught stepped back onto the main street, shoulders hunched and head down as he hurried home, feeling like a foolish sparkling running back to his creators. Again, he prayed that no one was around when he got home.

Too bad for Onslaught, he was never that lucky.

He was exhausted, walking with a noticeable limp when he finally got home, and the loud jubilant voices coming from his apartment did nothing but fill him with dread. He didn’t want to deal with his team under any circumstances right now, didn’t want the Autobots blue optics to widen in shock and surprise at what happened.

He didn’t want their pity, their sympathy.

He activated the locks and silently slipped inside, hoping that no one heard him. He could hear Brawl and Sideswipe laughing in the living room, talking about some Earth video game. Vortex and Sunstreaker were in the kitchen with Blast off and Bluestreak, the little gunner explaining how he got the extra oil into the little cakes.

Quietly, Onslaught dropped the sack by the door and silently walked to the wash racks, trying not to think how he was basically fleeing. He crept by the living room, Brawl and Sideswipe with their backs to him, his large injured frame surprisingly quiet.

“Onslaught is that you? You’re home early! I thought for sure you’d have been out longer. You were looking forward to going out.” Bluestreak’s cheerful voice called from the kitchen.

Apparently he wasn’t quite enough for Praxian door wings. Quickening his pace, Onslaught slipped into the wash racks and locked the door behind him before the little gunner could catch up.

“Yeah it’s me Blue. Just…um…washing up.” Onslaught called back, surprised that his voice was so calm and steady despite the hitch in his vents.

“Oh, okay Ons.” The nick name was said fondly, gently in the way that only Bluestreak could, and it made the Decepticon’s spark clench painfully. “I’ll let you know when we’ve got dinner ready. It should be good. Sunny said that energon from that shop is really good, the dips I mean. I wonder why they call them dips? It was a human term that kind of followed us to Cyberton, but I think it makes our food way more interesting.”

Normally Bluestreak’s obsessive rambling amused Onslaught, he thought it endearing actually, but right then Onslaught just wanted silence, to be left alone while he cleaned himself up. “Sure Blue.” He grumbled as he turned on the shower and removed his mask and visor.

His tanks churned as he examined the damage done and taking a deep vent, Onslaught carefully reset the nasal structure with his thumbs, straightening his nose with a grunt.

Bluestreak went quiet on the other side of the door. “You okay Ons?”

Onslaught cleared his throat, his tanks churning. “Just. Just not feeling well Blue, I’m going to have a nap once I’m cleaned up.” Such a domestic statement, if only it was true.

Part of Onslaught, a very small part, wanted to pull Bluestreak into the wash racks, bury his bare face into the gunner’s neck cables and confess the whole damned thing. Feel the smaller mech’s arms wrap around his neck and promise that everything would be okay, that he and the twins would take care of everything.

His red optics suddenly felt wet and burned as tears prickled at the corners. He could feel Rook’s servos on his frame, feel him inside him and could see Sentinel’s smirking face. It was supposed to be different now; they were supposed to be safe now that they were away from Sentinel and his mechs.

Onslaught ruthlessly crushed that though and forced the wetness away. He wouldn’t let Sentinel win, wouldn’t let the mech break him like this. He was stronger than Sentinel, better, smarter. He wouldn’t allow this weakness to show, not even in private. Hurt or not, Onslaught was stronger than Sentinel gave him credit for. He survived this once before, he would do it again.

“A…alright Ons. I’ll bring you something to eat later then.” Bluestreak said through the door and Onslaught could hear the others hesitation.

Onslaught didn’t respond to him and stepped into the hot fluid that rained down over his beaten, worn frame. Nothing felt lovelier as the hot solvent sliced through the energon on his face, cleaning away the evidence of what happened. He stood there for a sometime, the hot cleanser raining down over his plating, relaxing him as much as he could.

With Rook’s touch still clear in his processor, the Decepticon shuddered and suddenly feeling cold, Onslaught turned up the temperature. He felt dirty, unworthy of being in the home that the twins and Bluestreak were trying to make. Maybe Rook was right, maybe he deserved what happened to him...

Again, Onslaught slammed that line of thought down as fast as he could. Snarling, he took the first cleanser that came to servo, squirted a healthy dose into his rag and started to scrub his plating clean.

He was rough, using the pain as a way to ignore the feelings that wanted to well and break him down.  There was still energon spotting on his interface cover, but he ignored that and cleaned it as well. He was rough with his own valve, relishing the pain, reminding himself he was still alive, that Sentinel had failed to break him.

Onslaught rinsed his frame, but the feeling of filth wouldn’t go away, Rook’s words replaying in his processor. The Combaticon tried to ignore it, tried to not let it bother him as he turned off the hot spray of cleaner and quickly dried himself. After cleaning his mask, he would repaint it the following cycle, he put it back in place followed by his visor, grateful that he was able to hide behind this façade.

Cautiously opening the wash room door, the Combaticon leader was ashamed to admit that he was looking for his house mates, making sure the coast was clear before he retreated to his quarters. When he was sure no one would be in his way and would start asking awkward questions, Onslaught walked calmly to his quarters, fully intending to lock himself inside for the rest of the day.

Curling on his berth, the Combaticon stared at the wall, refusing to offline his optics because when he did, visions of Sentinel and Rook filled his processor and his optics would snap back online. Shock was taking over, Onslaught thought distantly as his frame began to tremble. He tried to fight it, tried to take control, but nothing stopped the shaking. 

It had been a really long time since he felt the burn like this, both of pain and his ego. He hurt from his injuries and he hurt that he allowed this to happen again. It hurt that he no longer had control of his life, of his own frame.

He let himself curl into a light ball, finding no comfort. It wasn’t long before the door to his quarters opened and Bluestreak’s light steps brought the little gunner to his berth side. He heard the Autobot set something on his nightstand table before perching on the side of his berth.    

Onslaught fought the flinch, forced his frame to stay where it was as Bluestreak’s gentle touch brushed his shoulder. “I brought you some energon Ons.” Came the gunner’s soft voice, servo petting his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

When the commander didn’t respond, Bluestreak tried again. “You’re shaking Ons.”

Onslaught swallowed; his voice rough. “Just not feeling well Blue.”

Bluestreak kept petting his shoulder, pausing only to pull a blanket out from under the berth; blankets had been something the Autobot’s brought back from Earth with them, and the gunner laid it over the Decepticon’s trembling frame.

Bluestreak was silent and went back to petting the commander’s shoulder, offering comfort in the only way he could. Only then could Onslaught slip into an uneasy recharge, filled with nightmares of Rook and Sentinel.

()()()


	3. Combaticons Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The attack on Onslaught comes to light at the worst time possible for him and his Autobot guards react.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important Information  
> “Blah” Speaking  
> ::Blah:: comm. link  
> ‘Blah’ bonded speech  
> ‘Blah’ thinking
> 
> Astrosecond- 2.5 earth Seconds  
> Klik- 150 earth seconds/ 2.5 earth Minutes  
> Orn- 150 earth minutes/ 2.5 earth Hours  
> Joor- 60 earth hours/2.5 earth Days  
> Metacycle- 17.5 earth days/2.5 earth Weeks  
> Vorn- 10 earth weeks/2.5 earth months  
> Stellercycle-30 earth months/2.5 years  
> Breem-slang for a moment/minute.   
> Night Cycle: star down to star up  
> Day Cycle: Star up to star down
> 
> Authors Note: I want to thank everyone who took the time to read and review this story; it always makes me smile when I see others enjoying my stories. 
> 
> A huge thank you to my beta, Darkness_Rising, who caught every little loose end I had forgotten to close up. This chapter wouldn’t have been as awesome without you! :D 
> 
> WARNING: This chapter contains past memories/thoughts of rape encounters. If you do not like this sort of thing or uncomfortable with this, please do not read this chapter. You have been warned. 
> 
> Also, the Combaticon's are a little OCC in this chapter. But bare in mind they spend a long time being slaves, raped and tortured by Sentinel Prime and his followers. That's bound to leave its mark on them. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own only my OC’s, nothing else.
> 
> ()()()

Vortex gasped as he arched into Sunstreaker’s frame; caught hard in the hold of the heat, he had no choice but submit to the frontliner’s touch. His powerful legs were wrapped around black hips as Sunstreaker thrust into this wanting valve, whispering a mixture of soft promises of blood and reassurance that he was safe.

Brawl was already passed out on his own bunk in a sated recharge.

Bellowing out his charge, Vortex overloaded, his valve clamping down hard on Sunstreaker’s spike, the frontliner right behind him, riding out the ‘copter’s charge.

()()()

Blast Off trembled and gasped. The red frontliner may have been much smaller then he, but Sideswipe would do things with his digits that would make the shuttle’s digits curl. Pleasure danced on his straining systems and Blast Off’s overload hit so hard that he shuddered and jerked in Sideswipe’s hold.

The frontliner was pulled in to his own overload, his pleasure slamming through him hard but his touch gentle on the Decepticon’s hot plating.

Swindle was deep in recharge, already worn out by the frontliner.

()()()

Bluestreak nursed his energon cube as he sat perched on the counter in their kitchen, one pede tucked under his aft as he watched Onslaught writhing in the living room chair. The Combaticon commander had not been himself the last few joors, ever since the cycle he had gone out on his own.

Onslaught had been distant from them all, more so than usual. He was quieter, lost in his own little world of pain and despair. He had stopped eating with them, when he ate at all, and the few times Bluestreak had managed to coax him into refuelling, it was only half a cube.

The Combaticon claimed to be feeling unwell, but not sick enough to go to Ratchet. His frame looked like it had been run ragged, his plating had lost his glossy shine and it looked like he had repainted parts of his mask and chest.

Something had happened, Bluestreak was sure, but Onslaught’s lips were sealed. He wasn’t talking about it and closed himself off from even his gestalt, and now he was fighting the heat programming again, something he hadn’t done since Bluestreak had won the large mech’s trust.

Huffing a sigh, the Combaticon shuddered as he squirmed again, shifting his thighs. Bluestreak was sure he saw the other to wince. Blue optics narrowed, his wings arched high in concern at the other’s grimace of pain.

Okay, something was wrong, seriously wrong with Onslaught. Bluestreak tossed back the rest of his energon, swallowing it quickly before sliding off the counter and approaching the Decepticon.

Shifting uncomfortably again, pain mixed with dread shot through Onslaught; the wounds inside had not healed as well as he had hoped, the metal still burnt and distended. He had been finding droplets of energon blood on the inside of his interface panel since the day it happened and his systems were sluggish and slow.

He had been recharging more, while his auto repair struggled to fix whatever was broken inside, and Onslaught was beginning to worry. But fear and pride kept him from going to Bluestreak or the twins.

Twitching at a soft touch to his shoulder, Onslaught glanced up at Bluestreak, his lips parted in a heavy pant behind his mask. Bluestreak looked worried, his lips pulled down in a small frown, his small digits lightly petting the large mech’s shoulder and it only ramped up his shame.

“Are you okay Ons?”

Guilt swamped the other mech. Bluestreak and the others had been so worried about him, had been trying to give him the space he needed. Dropping his optics to his knees, Onslaught tried to get his processor back under his own control, fight the heat. He didn’t want Bluestreak to see the damage done to him, didn’t want to feel the pain when the little gunner would be forced to take him, to end the heat once more.

There was no way around it, the heat couldn’t be fought against and fear zipped through his systems. What was Bluestreak going to say when he found out? In his spark, Onslaught knew he would be worried for the Combaticon, concerned, but part of him wondered if the little gunner would be disgusted with him. Be revolted that he would be forced to take him after Rook had. 

Venting a sigh, Onslaught nodded, reaching up to take Bluestreak’s small servo in his own, “I’m fine Blue.” Slowly he stood to his full height, towering over the small Autobot.

Heat raced through his systems and the lubrication that pooled behind his closed interface panel, stung and burned. He managed to keep the limp from his step as he lead Bluestreak to his quarters.

Bluestreak frowned, quietly following the large ‘Con to his room, the unease setting deeper in his spark. Something was very off here, very wrong.

Bluestreak was led into Onslaught’s quarters where the Combaticon finally released his tight grip on his servo and the Autobot wondered if the ‘Con knew how hard he was hanging on. Judging by the stiff walk, it was doubtful.

“Ons...” Bluestreak trailed off, concern coloring his tone as the Combaticon lay down on the berth, parting his legs.

Panic hit Bluestreak then. Onslaught was never this submissive, ever. Not even when the heat had him this bad, Onslaught always fought, always played a game for dominance when the heat struck. Bluestreak loved it, loved to see the fight in the other’s bright optics even when Bluestreak pinned the other down.

This submission though, seemed wrong. Bluestreak’s mouth dried as he wanted to take the larger Decepticon in his arms the best that he could, and comfort him. Onslaught would never allow it of course, wouldn’t accept comfort.

Licking his lips, Bluestreak slowly approached the berth, disturbed how Onslaught didn’t even look at him, as if he was worried about something. Perching gently on the side of Onslaught’s berth, Bluestreak gently reached out to touched the others helm softly. “Look at me Ons. Please.”

Venting, Onslaught did as he was asked, his visor dim as he looked up at the small gunner, his frame tense.

He was afraid, or as afraid as Onslaught could be, Bluestreak realised and he wouldn’t lay still on the berth, squirming under Bluestreak’s gentle optics.

“Just get on with it.” He snarled, but his voice crackled, didn’t have his usual bite.

Sighing sadly, the little gunner reached down to remove the mask, realising that he hadn’t seen Onslaught’s face for as long as he had been acting oddly. Just as his soft digits brushed the mask, Onslaught caught Bluestreak wrists.

“Not tonight little gunner.” He fidgeted uncomfortably, his interface panel sliding open, praying that Bluestreak didn’t look or check him. Maybe, if he could just stay quiet enough, he could get away with not telling Bluestreak anything.

The Autobot frowned from above him, digits itching to touch, but Bluestreak abided by Onslaught’s request and slowly pulled his servos away. Pressing his servo to Onslaught’s taunt abdomen, Bluestreak gently toyed with the transformation seams there. “It’s okay Ons, I’ve got you. Just relax.”

Moving slowly, Blustreak’s digits gentle as he settled between Onslaught’s splayed legs, his servos running over the wide planes of the Combaticon’s thighs, a gentle smile slicked over his mouth. “Relax Onslaught. It’ll be okay.”

Bluestreak was trying to be reassuring before his helm dipped down, intending to lick at the soft, pliable metal between his legs. Dread filled Onslaught. The Autobot was going to see what Rook had done to him, would see the damage, and shame filled the Combaticon once more.

He was nothing but a burden; he had stopped the gunner from bonding with the twins, couldn’t protect his team, hell he couldn’t even protect himself and now Bluestreak was going to see just how pathetic he was.

Onslaught tensed, worried about what was going to happen next, the programming ramping higher, demanding that this happen. Shuddering, the Decepticon willed his frame to be still as Bluestreak’s helm dipped down, his smooth glossa licking at his exposed valve and just as quickly his helm popped backup in shock.

Bluestreak could taste the injury; the metal was rough and swollen, energon blood slicking his entrance, bitter and old.  Gasping, a small servo came to rest at his mouth as terror and shock rippled through his systems.

Squirming in shame, Onslaught looked away, unable to witness the look of pity and disappointment on the other’s face.

Swallowing, Bluestreak’s optics were locked on the Combaticon, fear and understanding taking root. He knew those injuries, he had read through Ratchet’s reports on the Combaticon’s when they first came to live with them. He knew what had been done to Onslaught.

“Onslaught!” Bluestreak whined; his voice high and strained.

The commander shook his helm; he just wanted this over with and the sooner the better. Bluestreak slowly, carefully crawled up the large ‘Con’s frame, sitting on his waist. Onslaught was stiff and tense beneath him and it was a struggle for the larger mech to keep his servos at his sides.

Bluestreak gently touched Onslaught’s helm, voice soft. “Please take your mask off Ons.”

The Combaticon shifted uncomfortably, the soft light from Bluestreak’s optics glowed delicately on his upper cheeks. His gentle lips pulled down in a small, concerned frown as he looked down at Onslaught.

Venting a deep sigh, the commander unlatched his mask and visor to allow Bluestreak to remove it. He off lined his optics when the gunner’s digits lightly brushed at his face as the mask came off, visor right behind it.

Bluestreak hissed softly at the damage done. Onslaught’s nose was still bent in the middle, crooked and broken.

Shame filled the large Decepticon as sadness filled the small Autobot. Onslaught couldn’t bear the pity from the smaller mech, not tonight, not when his weakness, his injuries, were too fresh, too new.

Setting the battle mask and visor down, Bluestreak frowned, his digits softly brushing the Combaticon’s bare cheek again in what he hoped would be comfort. “Ons, please look at me.” An unsettled emotion, an upset and hurt caused by Onslaught’s pain settled in the smaller mech, tears gathered in Bluestreak’s blue optics. “Please.”

Onslaught forced his optics online, looking up at wide blue optics as they filled with tears and regret. Fear mingled with hurt as well as other soft feelings that Onslaught had no idea how to deal with. No pity, Onslaught saw with relief; that he could not have endured.

The heat crawled through his lines, his valve and although injured and sore, his frame begged for Bluestreak’s spike against his will, needed against his will, craved what only Bluestreak could give to him.       

The tears of the other mech bothered the Combaticon. The cheerful little gunner should be smiling and grinning. The twins always could cheer him up, could do it without fail while Onslaught and the other Decepticon’s were left flailing.

Onslaught would try, on a normal day. Would bring Bluestreak energon, try to make him smile; a pathetic way to say thank you for saving their wretched lives. But right now lust and want was clouding his judgement. He needed the heat to be reset and if Bluestreak wasn’t emotionally able to, then Sunstreaker or Sideswipe would have to do it.

Sitting up, both pain and lust shooting through his frame at the movement, Onslaught curled his large frame around the smallest Autobot in their messed up little family, his much larger servos resting on the other’s helm.

“Bluestreak, I need you right now.” He huffed, his venting rough and hard.

The big blue optics looked up at the commander, tears dancing in his expressive optics. Regret, hurt and _anger_ reflecting back at him. “And if you can’t do it, then please go get Sunstreaker.” The gold twin, Onslaught was sure, would be able to do what needed to be done. He would never shy away from his duty, and that was what Onslaught needed.

Bluestreak blinked up at him, fear mingling with the other expressions in the blue optics, not fear of letting the frontliner do what needed to be done, but fear of hurting Onslaught further. The Combaticon’s were their duty to protect, all three of them, and they had failed at that.

Suddenly, like a switched had been flipped, the tears in the blue optics dried and lips firmed up in a determined line. Bluestreak was a noble Autobot, strong and dependable, would never back down from a challenge, from his duty.

Blue optics suddenly went fuzzy and distant for just a moment, Bluestreak deep in thought before clarity snapped back to the gunner. “Lay back Onslaught.” Came the other’s gentle order.

Nodding, relieved, Onslaught lay back, parting his thighs a little more as heat crawled over his already over heated frame.

Bluestreak settled back between the large thighs, the same look of determination on his face. Glancing down at the damage, he winced. “This won’t stand Onslaught. We’re going to fix this.” His voice was clipped and hard, the voice he used only when on a mission.

Fix what _exactly?_ Onslaught had no idea. “Can’t fix me, I’m not broken.” He snarled, arching into Bluestreak’s soft touch on his thighs.

Frowning, the Autobot ran his thumbs along the inside of the Decepticon’s thighs, dipping into the transformations seam. “No. You’re not. But this situation will be rectified. This will not go unpunished.”

A hot, fuzzy haze was making it harder to think, or maybe it was the energon loss over the last couple of joors, Onslaught couldn’t be sure, but he had no idea what the gunner was going on about. The striking chevron cut through the air as Bluestreak’s helm shook back and forth, clearly his processor was elsewhere.

“Just relax Onslaught.” Bluestreak said softly as his helm dipped back down between the Decepticon’s thighs.

For the first time in joors, a hot spike of pleasure jolted through Onslaught’s frame as Bluestreak’s gentle glossa lapped at his swollen and injured valve. Pressing his face tighter and harder between the commanders legs, Bluestreak began to gently suckle and nip at the sensitive plating around his valve, his glossa darting out in careful licks.

Pleasure danced over Onslaught’s plating, muting the pain and shame; he wouldn’t last long, he had been fighting the programming for too long. Gasping as Bluestreak pressed the tip of his glossa inside his valve, Onslaught’s digits curled into the soft mat of the berth, his hips jerking.

Pressing his servos onto the large, powerful thighs, bracing himself, Bluestreak gently pressed his glossa in further, softly pressing against the nodes inside. Onslaught’s valve tried to clamp, painfully, onto the small, wet appendage but the darting glossa always managed to slip out, away.

Swallowing the growing moan as his charge built, Onslaught struggled to remain still, grateful that his processor was clear and free of Sentinel and Rook; he was focused solely on Bluestreak and the wonderful things he did with his glossa.

He knew deep down, that Bluestreak was doing this so not to hurt him further, so he would not damage his frame any more than it already was, but the programming from the heat that was funnelled into his system, demanded that Bluestreak use his spike and take him.

“Blue…” he was ashamed by the static in his voice, the need in his tone. This wasn’t him, not what he wanted.

Tipping his helm up, Bluestreak blinked at him and with lubricants dripping down his chin, the Autobot squinted at him, figuring out what was wrong quick enough. “I want to do it this way tonight.” There was enough authority and demand that it quelled the programming.

This wasn’t Bluestreak either, and the Autobot hated the power he had over the other. What he wanted was an equal partnership, not...this. Not being a master over anyone else, despite knowing that had the roles been reversed, Onslaught would not have shown him mercy.

But things were different now. They were different and they were forced into the roles they had to play.

“Do you understand!” There was no question in that demand.

Panting, Onslaught nodded, the program accepting the demand. Heat continued to crawl through his systems as Bluestreak’s helm dipped back down between the Decepticon’s thighs. Liquid heat danced in the commander’s abdomen as his aching valve continued to try and clamp down on the other’s glossa.

He had been fighting so long and so hard against the heat that he didn’t, couldn’t, last very long and all too soon, energy crackled over his frame. It pooled in his abdomen and sparked at his joints, but Bluestreak didn’t relent with his constant, gentle lapping.

When overload hit, Onslaught was helpless to stop the cry of pleasure that broke from his chest as electricity ripped through his frame. His hips arched off the berth, grinding hard into Bluestreak’s lips, pain and pleasure dancing exotically through his frame.

His vision swam while stars exploded in his optics, fans screaming to cool his overheated frame as he panted and falling limp, the Decepticon’s frame tingled. He felt weakened from the hard overload and the lack of energon these last few joors.

Barley aware that Bluestreak was suddenly by his side, or that gentle servos cradling his face, the Combaticon didn’t see concerned optics blazing down at him. “Ons! Ons, stay with me!”

Panic ripped through the Autobot when a static reply was all he got, and Onslaught could hear Bluestreak calling for the twins, fear shaking the gunner’s voice before he turned back to the commander. “Please Ons. Stay with me!” Tears gathered in the others optics, his lips still glistening from what he had been forced to do. “Stay with me Ons!”

He wondered why Bluestreak was panicking so. He would be fine after a few orns of rest then everything went black, and Onslaught knew nothing else.

()()()

Onslaught was warm, comfortably so, he realised when his processor finally rebooted. A long list of errors ran along the side of his HUD, informing him of the damage done to his frame and the repairs that went with them.

The second thing he realised was that nothing _hurt_ anymore. There were subtle aches, and his valve was still uncomfortable, but the pain was gone. Soothed away with the repairs done to his frame while he had been unconscious.

Ignoring the list, Onslaught checked his systems and was surprised to find his tanks were full, extra additives added to promote better healing. This...did not bode well for him.

It took him three attempts to reboot his audios and he could hear voices, muffled by distance; angry voices that carried, but not enough to know what they were saying. He could hear someone yelling and Sunstreaker yelling back, true anger in the frontliner’s voice.

He could hear someone gently crying, also muffled by the distance but Onslaught suspected it was Bluestreak. Worry and dread began to fill the Combaticon. Something was wrong here, something was off.

Suddenly becoming hyper aware of the four others in his gestalt, all pressing lightly against his blocks and asking for entrance into his chaotic processor, he pretended to still be off line, gathering more information before he even attempted the feat of letting them in.    

They were all in the room with him… _slagging wonderful_ …and they were all clustered close to him. Vortex was sitting by his hip on the berth, not touching but Onslaught suspected he wanted to. Blast Off was by the berth with Brawl and Swindle a little further away, likely on a chair.

He didn’t have to be connected to them with the bond to know they were upset, worried, he could practically taste it in the room, could hear the way their engines skipped, could feel the way their EMs were ragged, flickering out against his own, checking on him, making sure what they saw was real.

Inwardly Onslaught sighed. So his team knew what happened, and likely so did the twins. Bluestreak clearly knew. Awesome!

The situation couldn’t possibly get any worse. It really couldn’t, not even Onslaught’s luck was that bad.

“Online your optics. Let’s get your indicial check over with while they fight amongst themselves.”

Ah, there was that extra bit of bad luck. Now it got just a little worse.

Venting a sigh of annoyance, Onslaught tried to online his optics and succeeded on the second attempt this time. Once the static cleared, Onslaught looked up at the unbearable grinning face of Hook, the Decepticon medic, and one of three surviving Constructicons.

Great.

“Welcome back sleeping beauty.” Hook said, more cheerful, mocking, than he should have been, his wide grey helm canting.

“Why,” Onslaught’s voice was crackling with static, raspy, annoyed, “do you even know that reference?”  

Hook chuckled above him, again, sounding far too cheerful for the situation, the blinding white lights of the med bay blaring down into his sensitive optics. “Scavenger enjoys Disney movies. He likes it when Ratchet, Scrapper and I watch them with him.”  He shrugged nonchalantly. “Now sit up. Everything should be in working order.”

Venting, Onslaught pushed himself up, not looking at his shifting team mate by his hip, keeping his optics on Hook instead. The Constructicon took the Combaticon’s wrist and plugged in; taking in the other’s read out.  Onslaught shuddered at the invasion while at the same time, he felt the sudden push from Vortex along the gestalt bonds, felt him trying to break through the block.

Snarling, Onslaught shot the interrogator a dark look, strengthening his blocks. Vortex backed off, the rumble of his engine telling everyone that he was unhappy with what was going on. Grumbling, Onslaught relaxed and allowed Hook access to his processor, checking though his systems, ignoring the usual infighting amongst his gestalt.  

With Vortex backing off, it gave Onslaught a feeling of normality returning. At least he could still control his team.

Ignoring the Combaticons, Hook’s optics dimmed as he read the lines of code. Nodding, more than satisfied with what he saw, the Constructicon looked back up at the other commander. “You’re coming along well. I’m not surprised of course as I did the majority of your surgery.” Onslaught tensed as Hook sighed almost dramatically, glancing at the Autobot medic. “Ratchet claimed it was because he thought you would be more comfortable with me performing the surgery but clearly I am the superior medic. Shame the Autobot won’t admit it.”

A playful argument between the two medics, used to get under the plating of the other. Onslaught ignored it today. “What surgery?” 

Hook’s helm swivelled back to Onslaught, a frown pulling on his brow. “You’ve had major surgery Onslaught. Didn’t you clock the readouts?” 

Rage flickered through Onslaught at Hook’s tone, making it sound as though he were dumb, and the Combaticon’s engine rumbled low and dangerous in his chest.

Hook snorted, used to dealing with the volatile mech. “I’ll take that as a no then.” His tone was still high and almost mocking, talking down to the commander. “Very well. Your energon saturation was below forty percent, so low your lines were nearly collapsing. Your reservoir tanks, both of them, were completely empty after your frame’s attempt to heal itself and your main tank was peaking at barley thirty percent.”

Brawl made a small, scared noise. He had not been himself since Sentinel’s compound. Something within the tank had broken whilst held captive there, and Onslaught doubted that it would ever be fixed again. Hook ignored him and continued. “Both your shoulders were misaligned, your nasal structure was bent and broken and let’s not forget your valve.”

This time it was Vortex who made the noise, his snarling growl and engine revving in anger, noting his displeasure. He was ignored by everyone as Hook continued. “Before we even talk about the friction burns, the amount of tearing was staggering. I’m pretty sure it was your stubbornness that kept you going, you were basically running on fumes! It was the heat that finished you off, sending you into stasis lock, gave poor Blue a minor spark attack.  Anyway, we had to replace most of your valve lining, nodes and wiring. You left the injuries too long and your auto repair couldn’t handle it. Infection set in and rust ate away at the surrounding nodes and wires.”       

Shame crept in along his lines, making his tanks churn and his wires burn with it. Heat crept up along his neck cables and into his face as his servos balled in anger. He hid his shame with a show of anger, revving his engine high and angry, a broken snarl rumbling from his chest.

Now they all knew. Knew he couldn’t protect himself, or his team; couldn’t even ensure that he took care of his own frame. The heat spread downwards to his chest and into his spark as his shame spread.

“Anyway,” Hook shrugged, unplugging himself from Onslaught’s medical port. “Prime and Prowl have already been and taken statements from the others. They should be back later to get yours once you’ve rested.” Red optics glanced up. “You just wanna tell me who did it?”

Onslaught snarled again, armour puffing up, making his already large frame look even bigger. Vortex did the same, rotors stilling, frame tensing to attack. Swindle stood up so fast that the chair fell backwards and Brawl whimpered, taking a step back, hiding behind Blast Off.

Inwardly, Hook grinned. Despite Onslaught closing off the gestalt bond, causing the others to panic, the need to protect each other was still strong. This meant, at least, Onslaught’s processor was operating correctly if such basic programming was working.

Their ability to work together had only strengthened during their time at Sentinel’s imprisonment; Hook still had his own nightmares about his own time there.

“Alright, alright, calm down.” The medic huffed instead as he stepped back, sounding annoyed. “I’ll go let Ratchet and your hellions know you’re awake.”

Brawl peeked out from behind Blast Off, confused. “I didn’t think they called Bluestreak a hellion?”

Hook snorted. “Clearly, you’ve forgotten how many helmshots that little glitch made during the war.” The medic shrugged again. “Either way, I’ll go get them.”   

Without another word, Hook turned on his toe plate and marched to the room that held the arguing Autobots, leaving the Combaticons alone with each other, the awkward silence thick between them.

Swindle was the first to move and with a sigh the con-mech righted his chair, pulling it closer to his commander before settling back in it again. Vortex suddenly found his pedes to be the most interesting thing in the world, refusing to acknowledge the situation. Blast Off sighed softly, leaning against the wall, trying not to look troubled by the recent events. Brawl stuck close to the large shuttle, taking reassurance in feeling his team mate’s EM field washing over him; just another side effect of Sentinel’s treatment of the smaller Combaticon.

The silence was stifling, suffocating. Onslaught knew his gestalt mates wanted to ask what happened, who did it. Wanted him to open the bonds again, taking comfort in the fact that they had survived something so dark, so terrible that it had broken many a Decepticon.

It had shattered Shockwave.

Despite all they had survived, despite the fact that they had been forced to rely on each other to survive, Onslaught wasn’t going to open the bond yet. He wouldn’t subject his team to his dark shame and churning emotions.

“Are you okay Ons?” It was Brawl who finally asked the question that was on all the tip of their glossa.

The green tank was wringing his servos, shifting from pede to pede in worry. Switching from glancing up at his commander and dropping his gaze to his pedes, his confidence long lost in a dingy dark room of horror in Sentinel’s compound.

Venting a sigh, Onslaught straightened his shoulders. “I am fine Brawl. Don’t worry about it.”

The tank glanced up, relief flicking through his EM field for a moment before worry and despair took over again.

“I am.” Onslaught assured firmly, trying to catch and hold Brawl’s ever moving gaze.

“Bullshit!” Vortex sneered, rotors stiff at his back as he leapt up from the medical berth, spinning to face his commander. “That is a load of crap Onslaught and you know it.”

“Vortex!” Blast Off barked, peeling himself off the wall as Brawl took to hiding behind him again.

The ‘copters visor flashed angrily as Vortex took a step closer, leaning over his commander so they were face to face. Impotent anger which needed an outlet, rolled off the Combaticon in thick waves. “You’re not okay.” Came the broken snarl. “And you won’t be until whoever did this is dead! Their energon smeared across the alleys of Iacon!”

Rage flared through Onslaught. He didn’t need his own subordinate to tell him what he already knew. Sentinel may like to think him broken, like Brawl, but he was far from it. His large servo snapped up, digits digging into the soft lines of Vortex’s throat, hauling the smaller ‘Con down close.

His face was still unmasked from the surgery, so when Onslaught yanked Vortex down to his level, his harsh venting ghosted over the ‘copters visor, fogging it.  Vortex choked as his vents and main energon lines were cut off. Onslaught’s unhappy rumble let the other Combaticon know that pushing into the touch was unappreciated.        

Vortex reminded Onslaught of an organic Earth dog, any attention, even the bad, was good so long as Vortex was the main focus and on cycles like this, it grated on the commander.

“I said I am fine Vortex.”

Vortex wheezed as Swindle shifted uneasily in his chair. The twins didn’t tolerate infighting like this and it upset Bluestreak. Blast Off was still on his pedes, a ball of calm rage, angry at everything around him and the situation; what he would have given to be away from his team and in deep space.

Pushing harder into the rigid hold, clawed servos holding almost tenderly at Onslaught’s wrists, digging in ever so slightly, Vortex laughed darkly, slipping into that dark place in his processor that even the commander didn’t like to think about.

“Come on, do it!” Whatever _it_ was, Onslaught had no idea to what Vortex referred to. Sometimes the larger Combaticon didn’t think Vortex knew himself either. “You know you want to.”

A brutal snarl that made his vocal box ache ripped from Onslaught’s chest as concern built up in the commander. Peeling back the bonds just ever so slightly, he dared to take a look into Vortex’s twisted psyche.

Dark, black thoughts swirled through to Onslaught from Vortex’s side of the bond; thoughts of killing Sentinel in a hundred and one ways, thoughts of burning his compound to the ground with all loyal to him inside, thoughts of his own death, to follow Shockwave to the Pits, fluttered through the Deception’s processor.

Venting, Onslaught struggled to calm himself, to reel in his own pain and anger in order to get Vortex back under control; he could very well hurt himself or one of their Autobots.

Tightening his hold, firmly ignoring how Vortex gasped and pressed just a little further, Onslaught scrambled for patience. “Calm down Vortex.”

A high pitched giggle that wasn’t quite all sane was his response as the ‘copter twisted his helm, forcing the neck cables to pull harder, tighter. This behaviour had been part of the reason why Onslaught didn’t want his team to know what had happened.

Part of it was the never ending shame and the other part, was how badly Vortex would react. Although not necessarily protective of others, and often during the war had looked out for his own selfish needs, the time spent at Sentinel’s compound had left a darker mark on Vortex.

His thirst for Sentinel’s blood energon and retribution had doubled. He didn’t fully trust anyone outside the gestalt and had a hard time trusting their Autobots. This would only further fray that shaky trust, showing the Autobots to be inferior protectors, and push Vortex further into the madness, the slag he called his processor.

Reaching up with his other servo, Onslaught wrapped thick digits around the collar at Vortex’s throat as well, securing him in place. “Vortex!” his commander growled, hoping he wouldn’t have to beat it out of his subordinate, when the Autobots walked in.

Sideswipe had been first to walk into the room and witnessed the scene. “Onslaught! What are you…”

The sentence was cut off as the frontliner approached, wanting to break up the fight between the two when Vortex, lost to his splintered processor, tried to turn and take a swipe at the crimson mech with deadly claws.             

Sideswipe froze where he was, blue optics narrowing and hardening on the smaller Combaticon, but not daring to approach. Acting quickly, Onslaught suddenly threw one large arm around his crazed subordinate and yanked him off his pedes and into his barrelled chest.

Sunstreaker came to stand next to his twin, shielding the small gunner and the two medics from what was going on.

Vortex howled like an angry cat, thrashing in his commanders hold. Kicking and biting to get free from the touch, to destroy what he perceived as an enemy. Yet Onslaught didn’t dare let go, not even when his arms began to tire, far too quickly in his opinion, and his own vents came hard and fast, he didn’t dare let go.

Not until Vortex calmed down and took control of his processor once more; the Autobot’s hadn’t fooled themselves into thinking that Vortex was okay, that he was controllable. Come to close when he was like this, and he’d likely kill them with a merry grin on his face.

The Decepticon howled again, struggling harder against Onslaught’s arms that crossed tightly over his heating frame, the commander’s frame weakening with every kick and hit.  

Ratchet shook his helm, a strong sedative was pulled from subspace and the mostly white medic took a step towards the Combaticons. Sunstreaker caught the white forearm, as his finned helm shook no. “It’ll be worse when he wakes up.”

Ratchet’s frown deepened, regret in his clear blue optics. “Onslaught isn’t going to be able to hold him much longer Sunny, and he should be recovering. If he doesn’t calm down he’s going to hurt someone.”

There was only one other mech in the entire universe that _may_ have been able to touch Vortex without causing catastrophic physiological damage. Luckily for Onslaught, that mech was Sunstreaker.

The finned helm swivelled back to the Combaticon commander, trust and care shining in the Autobot’s icy blue optics. “You’ve got him?”

“Yes.” Onslaught hissed back, putting more power into his arms.

Sideswipe was still as a statue at Ratchet’s other side, Bluestreak just behind, ready to jump in to help if the need be. Sunstreaker crossed the room and climbing on the berth, he crawled over Vortex with firm, gentle touches, his face unemotional as he perched on the ‘copters hips.

Vortex snarled, claws flexing helplessly, caught in his commander’s grip, his hips bucking in an attempt to toss the Autobot. Sunstreaker leaned forward, pressing his chest to Vortex’s, pulsing his spark hard, his way of showing _who_ it was that on top of him as even in his rage soaked processor, he should recognise the energy.

Bracing one servo on Onslaught’s broad shoulder, Sunstreaker laid his servo across Vortex’s optics, sending the Decepticon in darkness. The ‘con made an odd strangled noise, trying to twist away from the Autobot on top of him.

Neither Onslaught nor Sunstreaker said a thing. Words wouldn’t help here to calm the crazed ‘Con but the darkness had a calming effect, like a falcon’s hood, helping centre Vortex, helped him bring his processor back to himself.

The struggling became less, the snarling and spitting quietened as Vortex fell still. His venting ragged panting as he fell limp against his commander.

Still Sunstreaker didn’t move, didn’t take his servo away. Glancing up, Sunstreaker caught Onslaught’s unvisored red optics. “You still okay?”

The commander nodded, his arms not loosening from around the other in case Vortex should lose it and attack when he had the chance.

The kliks began to run together, the Autobot and Decepticon waiting for the sign that Vortex was calm enough to be freed. His venting slowed, shoulders suddenly drooped and his rotors relaxed; the sign they were waiting for.

The golden plated mech and the Combaticon commander shared a look as Sunstreaker removed his servo from Vortex’s visor, at the same time Onslaught loosened his arms from around the mech he held.

Moving slowly, the tension thick and suffocating, everyone waiting for Vortex to lose it and attack Sunstreaker as he reached out to remove the visor. But the ‘copter lay limp, almost tranquil against his commander, battling the demons in his processor. Vortex allowed the large frontliner to carefully remove his visor and subspace the red crystal glass.

The pale red optics that blinked back at Sunstreaker were blank, unemotional, devoid of thought, of feeling; a creature running on pure instinct rather than plans.

The gold mech cursed under his breath, it was hard enough to calm Vortex down when he was angry, even harder when he retreated this far into his processor.

Onslaught huffed, shoving the ‘copter into the golden Autobot. “Take him home then.”

It wouldn’t do to look any weaker in front of the Autobots or his team.

It took a moment of rearranging limbs and shuffling, but Sunstreaker managed to lift Vortex from his commander’s iron grip, nearly cradling the crazed copter against his chest, the dark square helm lolling against the thick shoulder plate.

Taking a step back, Sunstreaker allowed Bluestreak access to the berth. The small gunner’s face was contorted into a look of worry, despair. His small servos reached out to snatch Onslaught’s larger one and held it tightly as he tried to explain what was to happen next, Ratchet behind him.

“I’m so glad you’re awake Ons. I was so scared when you blacked out, I didn’t know what was happening! You just blacked out and your venting went all crazy fast and your frame wasn’t cooling! And Sunny and Side’s didn’t know what was happening, and the others couldn’t feel you on the bond, and you weren’t waking up!”

Onslaught never tried to silence or begrudged the little ‘bot when he was rambling; the older mech knew that Bluestreak had lost a lot during the war, feared losing what he had now. So he sat silently, keenly aware how tight Bluestreak squeezed his servo, how watery his blue optics were and how he fought from letting the tears slip.

It was odd, having any one outside the gestalt worry about him and his team. Often Onslaught didn’t know what to do with the softer feelings from the Autobots, it made him uncomfortable, made him uneasy.

Ratchet put a soft servo onto Bluestreak’s shoulder, bringing an end to the chatter.

The gunner sighed and his door wings sunk lower on his back. “Right. Sorry Ratchet. Ummm, Optimus was here earlier, and he will be back tomorrow for your statement. Ratchet gave him...us, the full report.” Blue optics dropped to his knees. “What...what happened Onslaught?”

Defensiveness jumped from Onslaught’s centre. His gestalt was watching him, his Autobots were watching him, as were his old allies. Heat crawled up from his neck cables, making one of the machines beep at his change in condition. “I’m fine.”

The words were hard and cold, no room for argument. The little gunner’s door wings drooped just a little lower, one servo clinging to the Decepticon’s servo while wiping his blue optics with the back of his other servo. “Ons. We know someone…”

“I’m fine Bluestreak!” The Combaticon snarled, armour brisling in annoyance.

Bluestreak flinched but held onto the others large servo. “But Ons, who…”

“Don’t worry about it!” Onslaught’s helm began to swim, exhaustion swelling, making the Decepticon feel weak and sleepy. He fought against the weakness, forcing himself to focus on the gunner. “I said I’m fine.”

Everyone in the room tensed, shifting awkwardly under the Decepticon’s angry red optics. Even his team mates shifted their gaze, yet they didn’t stop the constant pulsing along the bonds, asking their leader to let them in but it only resulted in him closing the bonds tighter.

It was Sideswipe who tried again. “Onslaught, listen, there is no shame in…”

“What would you know about it!” The commander hissed, angry and bristling, shame at what had occurred building just behind it.

Sideswipe, to his credit didn’t back down. The self-declared prank king stayed firm, his frame not flinching away. “You know that we know what it’s like and it’s not your fault Onslaught. You…“

“Enough Sideswipe! I hardly need or want your pathetic pity!”

“It’s not pity!” Sunstreaker hissed in response, his grip still gentle on Vortex. “It’s concern!”

“There is no difference!” True anger came though Onslaught’s tone.

Bluestreak looked helplessly between the twins and Onslaught, not sure what to say or whose side to take. He knew the twins were right but that’s not what the Combaticon needed to hear. It was Ratchet who came to his rescue and didn’t make him choose a side.

“Enough! All of you!” Various coloured optics turned to stare at the Autobot medic, Hook at his side, inspecting his claws and finding the whole situation below him in its juvenileness. “Onslaught needs to rest.” He gestured towards the remaining Combaticons. “And this lot needs to rest. The Combaticons just went through their heat cycle; you shouldn’t have even brought them here!”

Bluestreak and the twins shifted a little, not bothering to mention the fact that the rest of the gestalt had refused to be left behind, too worried about their commander’s state to stay home and rest.

“Ratchet, can one of us stay then?” Swindle asked, thinking he may be able to bargain with the medic into letting him stay.

Blue optics narrowed on the jeep, annoyed. Ratchet was not one to be bargained with. “Absolutely not. You all need your rest to gather your strength. Gestalt or not, you’re all going home.”

Swindle’s shoulders drooped a little, dismay clearly written on his face; possibly another little side effect of Sentinel’s compound. It had drawn the Decepticons together in ways they didn’t think had been possible.

Blue optics drew up to the medics, “Can I stay then?” Bluestreak asked softly, his optics large and watery. “I don’t have to rest.”

Ratchet opened his mouth, no doubt to tell the gunner no, when Bluestreak pressed on. “Please Ratchet? Onslaught is our responsibility and we let him down. And! And, I have a direct comm. with the twins who will be with the others. If something happens, they will all be close by.”

Ratchet looked unimpressed, blue optics narrowing. “I have a direct comm. with the twins. I can contact them just as easily.”

Bluestreak glanced at the worried twins and equally worried gestalt. They would all feel slightly better at having one of their own with Onslaught. Not that they didn’t trust Ratchet, but his clinic was open to all, including Sentinel’s mechs. They had managed to get at Onslaught once, who was to say they couldn’t do it again.

“Please Ratch? I’ll be quiet. You won’t even know I’m here. I promise.”

Ratchet glared down into Bluestreak’s tearful optics. The younger mech had been like this when the twins had been injured during the war and the way things had been going with the Decepticons, he wasn’t surprised he was acting this way with Onslaught.

Huffing in annoyance, Ratchet uncrossed his arms and placed his cherry red servos on his hips. “One noise and you’re out, understand?”

Bluestreak nodded, far too used to the gruff medic to be upset at his tone. “You won’t even know I’m here!” He repeated.

“Good.” The Autobot snapped, ignoring Hook’s scoff and murmur of ‘going soft’ as he turned to the twins. “You two, take the rest of the Combaticons home. Make sure they actually rest tonight.”

The twins shared a worried look before nodding. Sunstreaker, still carrying Vortex, turned and started heading to the door, trusting that Bluestreak would be able to protect Onslaught. Swindle gave one last worried glance at his commander before hurrying after the gold twin, disliking the medbay more than he was willing to admit.

Sideswipe’s own worried optics roamed over the commander’s repaired frame, wanting to say more but knowing that it would only be rebuffed, taken as insult. Instead he glanced at the last two Combaticons, nodding towards the door. “Come on you two. You can harass Onslaught tomorrow.”

Brawl huffed as he came out from behind Blast Off, patting his commander’s knee before going to catch up with Sunstreaker and Swindle. Blast Off followed the tank out, pausing only to squeeze at Onslaught’s shoulder before following the red Autobot out.

“Alright, Onslaught, get some rest or I will put you out if I need to.” Ratchet said firmly; being sedated was something the Combaticon would dread happening. There would be no escaping the nightmares then.

Huffing in annoyance, Onslaught shot Ratchet a dirty look before laying back down, nearly ripping his servo from Bluestreak’s and rolling over so that his back was to them, his valve tingling uncomfortably from the repairs and his shoulders burning as he settled.

Ratchet and Hook lingered by the door for a moment, optics roaming over Onslaught’s damaged frame and on Bluestreak’s tense one. The smaller Autobot shared a worried look with Ratchet, gesturing with a nod that they should go, that he would be okay.  

Ratchet gave the gunner one last worried look, that was tinged with annoyance before he turned and led Hook back into the main area of the clinic, no doubt checking that the twins had actually left.

Bluestreak gently placed his shaking servo over Onslaught’s arm, his thumb running smoothly along a transformation seam. He swallowed, rallying his courage, keeping his voice low as not to attract Ratchet. “You know Sides was right. It’s not your fault.”

Onslaught huffed again, more exhausted than annoyed. “Thank you for the status update Bluestreak. I realise this.”

Bluestreak shifted uncomfortably, but he had to get the name of who had done this. It couldn’t go unpunished. “I know Ons. I know, you know.”

“Then why bring it up?”

Taking a deep breath, Bluestreak steeled himself, his grip on the Combaticon’s shoulder tightening, “I don’t know.” He paused for moment. “Ons, this…this can’t stand. It won’t stand. We know what happened, there’s no point in denying it.”

If he accepted it, then it was real again.

“Onslaught, who did this? Just give me a name and they will pay for this.” Bluestreak’s words were cold, hardened by eons of war and having to do what needed to be done, not what was easy.

Onslaught refused to speak to the Autobot, refused to acknowledge that he was there, after all, what could the little gunner do to avenge him? They lived in a _civilised_ world now, no more revenge missions, no more mindless killing to even the score. There was no point in telling Bluestreak who had done this as there would be no punishment.

The gunner sighed and carefully crawled over the Decepticon’s wide hips, careful to only touch where he had to, lying stretched out beside him, facing the shuttered optics and firm mouth.

Bluestreak wanted to touch, to comfort but he knew it would be rejected, but he couldn’t help it. He lay his servo lightly along the Combaticon’s helm, thumb brushing the other’s forehelm. “Onslaught, just give me the name. I swear to you, they will pay for this.”

Red optics, tired and weary blinked on to glower at Bluestreak. “And what, pray tell, will you do?”

Bluestreak met the angry stare, blue optics still soft despite the hardness in his voice. “I don’t know Onslaught. I don’t know what they will do.” The gunner shifted as his other servo came up to cup the commander’s face softly, not caring that his gentle touch would be rebuked. “But we can’t do anything unless you give me the name of the mech or femme who did this.”

The red optics never wavered. “Why? Why seek revenge for me?”

Bluestreak’s optics softened further. “Because we were supposed to protect you and we failed at that Onslaught, and I am sorry. I am so, so sorry.” Tears began to gather in the blue optics again. “And I can’t even promise that this will never happen again.” His vents hitched in a soft sob. “Because it might but Primus, we will do everything we can to stop it, and I’m sorry that I can’t do more Onslaught. I…I’m sorry.”

The tears that slipped down the others face ate at Onslaught’s blackened spark. This was no more Bluestreak’s fault than his own, but the gunner was taking it all to spark, blaming himself. “This wasn’t your fault either.” The commander rumbled gruffly. “Stop blaming yourself.”

Onslaught’s own large servo came up to rest along Bluestreak’s small helm, dwarfing it with its size. The Autobot’s wings trembled behind him with emotion as he took a deep vent to calm himself, the tears still leaking down his face. “But we’ll try to do better. We will avenge you,”

Onslaught laughed darkly, his own thumbs rubbing along Bluestreak’s helm, mimicking the affection the gunner was trying to give him. “I’m not dead kid. No need to go off and get yourself or anyone else hurt over me. I’m fine Blue.”

“But you’re not Onslaught! They _hurt_ you! And it’s my fault!”

“It’s not.” Came the gruff, calm reply.

“It is! I should have been with you, should have protected you!” Bluestreak cried.

The commander shushed him gently, drawing the Autobot closer, copying what he had see the other Autobot’s do to comfort each other, unsure if he was doing it right.

Bluestreak went on. “I knew the programming would dampen your strength, keep you from fighting back. I should have, I could have done something!” Onslaught sighed as Bluestreak vented, calming himself down. “Please Ons. Just give us this. Whoever did this to you can’t be allowed to get away with this. They will do it again to someone else.” Blue optics that had dropped suddenly came back up. “We can’t let that happen and you deserve justice. Please trust us, just give me the name.”                  

An odd sort of twist rumbled unhappily in Onslaught’s tanks. “I thought you didn’t like death and fighting.”

“Just because I dislike death and war doesn’t mean I will shy away from doing what is necessary and not what is considered _right_.”

A shudder caused by a completely different stimulation ran through the commander’s frame. Despite everything, Onslaught really did like Bluestreak. The gunner, although young by their standards, was made of something tough, something that had gotten him through the war. A fire that had somehow survived, and would have been stomped out had Megatron won the war.  

It thrilled Onslaught that the fire was still there, still strong. He could still do what needed to be done; it was something that the commander could admire, despite the tears that streamed down the gunner’s face.

“Please Onslaught. Just give me the name.  Please trust me.” The soft words were a plea to trust him, a plea to let him set things right.

Again, mimicking what he has seen other Autobots do, the commander brushed the tears away from the blue optics. Venting a tired sigh, Onslaught caught the smaller mech’s optics. “Does this really mean that much to you?”

“Yes.” Bluestreak’s small helm bobbed in the affirmative.

Onslaught paused, unsure, he needed to be careful. Anything he said could get someone he cared about killed, and if Blue or the twins died, not even the damned collar would keep him contained. He would brutalize every mech and femme loyal to Sentinel until either the collar or Sentinel killed him.

Yet, it seemed to mean so much to Bluestreak.

“Rook. His name was Rook, a shuttle-former who works for Sentinel.”

Understanding flickered through the watery blue optics, and Bluestreak vented a soft sigh. “Thank you Ons. Thank you.” He paused again. “I promise, things will get better.”

The commander snorted, not believing the Autobot. “Recharge now Blue. It’s going to be a long cycle when we wake.”

Bluestreak nodded, curling further into Onslaught’s large frame, softening against the Decepticon as the he nodded off into recharge. The Combaticon shook his helm and followed Bluestreak into the soft land of rest and relaxation. With Bluestreak so close, at least the nightmares would be kept at bay for the night-cycle.

The commander didn’t even notice how the little gunner’s optics dulled and flickered momentarily as though he was communicating over comm. lines before his optics slipped shut into recharge.

()()()

Sunstreaker watched his odd little family in different states of panic and fear from his perch on the back of the couch.

Undoubtedly, Brawl would have nightmares this night-cycle, his fidgeting and clinginess a clear sign of that. Vortex had snapped out of his half dead state and was pacing around their apartment like a wild animal in a cage. Swindle stared out of the window, his purple optics blank as he watched the stars and Blast Off was on the couch that Sunstreaker perched on, his frame tense and still.

Sideswipe leaned against the same couch, worried blue optics flickering over the Decepticons that seemed to cluster together. The crimson Autobot’s optics met his twins, worry and concern reflected in both of them. Worry, concern and _anger_.The sheer amount of anger that floated back and forth between their twin bond was so strong, they could practically taste it.

It bubbled up from there centres, hot and angry; black swells of rage and hate passing between the two.

**_‘Do you think Blue will get the name?’_ **

**_‘I have no doubt he will. Onslaught trusts him.’_** Sunstreaker paused, watching Vortex pace for a moment. **_‘Will you be able to handle Tex while I’m gone?’_**

The crimson mech glanced at the pacing ‘copter, twitching and angry. Sideswipe vented a heavy sigh, shoulders visually drooping. **_‘Blast Off will be here, but maybe I should go instead. Vortex likes you better.’_**

**_‘He likes you well enough.’_ **

Sideswipe paused. **_‘He trusts you. And with Onslaught in medbay, you being here will make him feel better.’_**

The golden mech glanced at the Combaticon. **_‘He does, but you’re softer. Brawl will be having nightmares, Swindle too. Leave Vortex to Blast Off, just take care of the other two.’_**

Sideswipe was softer than his twin, could talk the others through their nightmares in ways that Sunstreaker wished he could.

The golden plated twin on the other servo, could do things that would make even his twins’ tanks churn; and it was those dark, horrid things he planned to do tonight, all he needed was a name.

A soft ping from Bluestreak startled Sunstreaker, not expecting the gunner to get what they were after so quickly. ::Rook. A shuttle who works for Sentinel.::

Sunstreaker passed the information along to his twin, realisation that was followed by anger passed through the crimson twins’ stance; Sideswipe’s armour puffed up in aggravation and aggression as he pushed an image of a large rust and orange colored shuttle along the bond.

::We got it Blue. How is he?::

Bluestreak hesitated over the comm. ::I don’t know Sunny. He’s closing up tight, doesn’t want to talk about it.::

That, at least, Sunstreaker could understand. ::Get some rest, we’ll figure everything out when you guys come home.:: the frontliner paused, unsure. ::Take care of our big guy Blue. Make sure he gets some rest too.::

::I will Sunny. Be careful.::

Sunstreaker chuckled darkly. ::It’s not me that you should be worried about Blue.::

Bluestreak sighed over the comm. line, so much affection in such a small sound, before he cut the line and went to take care of _their_ commander.

The twins shared a look before Sunstreaker slid off the couch and gave his back a long stretch. “I’m going out.” He said causally, calmly as though nothing was amiss.

Four sets of Decepticon optics snapped to him, shock and worry only visible in both Swindle’s and Vortex’s faces but undoubtedly echoed in the masked faces of the rest of the gestalt.

Brawl froze, servo suddenly grabbing onto Swindle as he addressed Sunstreaker. “You’re _leaving_!”

Sunstreaker glanced at the frightened Decepticon and Sideswipe jumped in. “Not for long. He’ll be right back, but this is really important.”

Brawl glanced worried and scared between Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. “But...but _your leaving!_ ”

“And he will be right back Brawl. It’s going to be okay.” The crimson twin said softly, drawing on the softness that had come from comforting Bluestreak during the war. The older of the twins moved from couch, coming to kneel before the tank. “And if you want,” Sideswipe said softly. “We can stay up and wait for him to come home.”

Brawl’s helm nodded, his wide servos clutching at the others. “Alright.” He whispered, optics glancing at the younger of the twins.

Vortex glared at the Autobot, crimson optics still bare and angry, the tinge of madness still present. “Where…” he hissed, “would you be going _tonight_ when one of our own is in the medbay?”

Blue optics looked to the Decepticon with a frown. “Don’t worry about it tonight Tex. Just stay with your gestalt and help Sideswipe by behaving.”

Red optics narrowed as shrewdness, that Vortex was not necessarily known for, came to the surface. “You wouldn’t be leaving tonight unless you had a good reason.” Claws clicked against armour in annoyance. “You know who did this.”

Sunstreaker met the Decepticon’s glare with one of his own. “It doesn’t matter Vortex.”

“Do you?” Blast Off asked, unexpectedly. “Do you know who did this?”

Sunstreaker hesitated, blue optics glancing down as he tried to decide if telling them was a wise decision or not; it could go well or extremely bad. However, if there was one thing the golden mech had learned when dealing with their Decepticons, it was don’t lie. “We do. Onslaught told Bluestreak who did it.”

Four faces looked at him before anger burst from all of them; even from Brawl, who was not as broken as they all had thought. The Combaticons jumped up, armour bristling and angry, rage burning through them as they all tried to talk over each other, yelling. They wanted to know who; they wanted to help exact revenge.

Sideswipe was in part, surprised to see such a reaction, such a normal _Combaticon_ reaction, that for a moment all he wanted to do was laugh. There may be hope for them yet.

Sunstreaker, on the other servo, was not as amused. Snarling, blue optics narrowed on the noisy bunch, in the back of his processor he knew his reaction would pump Brawl’s ego at his display of aggression, almost like his old self but right now, the golden mech needed to get out of the apartment without the Decepticons following him.

“Enough!” the golden Autobot yelled, his worry and anger over Onslaught coming though. “Yes, we know who did it. No, you’re not coming with me, any of you.” Voices were raised in protest, but were silenced when Sunstreaker yelled over them again, his voice cold and hard. “NO! You will all stay here.”

“He’s our commander!” Brawl snapped, his frame running too hot, systems running too hard. “We should be allowed to help!”  

The finned helm shook no. “Forget it Brawl, it’s not safe.”

“But…”

“This mech,” Sunstreaker snapped, “subdued Onslaught. _Fragging Onslaught!_ If he can do that to _him_ the rest of you stand no chance.”

The four fell silent at the words, the knowledge that this was true burning into their sparks; as long as they wore the collars, they were as helpless here as they were at Sentinel’s camp; something else that burned at their sparks.

“Besides,” The gold mech said firmly, making sure the Decepticons attention was on him and only him, “What is about to go on tonight, none of you can be associated with this, in any way. Now, I am going out and you all _will_ behave for Sideswipe tonight, understood?”

Begrudgingly, four helms nodded, faces sour with disappointment and anger. As Sunstreaker turned to head for the door, Sideswipe tried to get everyone to calm down, get some rest and be ready to deal with Onslaught tomorrow when he and Bluestreak returned home.

Vortex brushed past the crimson mech, catching up with Sunstreaker before he left.

“Autobot!” The Decepticon’s voice was hard, biting out like a strike.

Turning, Sunstreaker frowned at the angry face of the other. “So we are back to that again are we?”

Vortex snarled and marched up to the Autobot, throwing him bodily into the wall, his sharp digits digging into the other’s shoulders before the ‘copter’s lips crashed onto Sunstreaker’s in a hard, biting kiss. Black servos came to rest at Vortex’s shoulders as their glossa fought and battled for supremacy, denta nipping at the probing appendages before Vortex pulled away just as quickly.

It left the frontliner and the ex-interrogator panting, blue and red optics boring into each other, emotions racing past too fast to comprehend; hate, rage, the growing need to do violence drowning out the soft feelings they had for each other and their family.

“Make him suffer.” Vortex snarled, slipping back into the darkness of his processor.

Sunstreaker’s engine revved against the ‘copter and he pulled the Decepticon flush to his frame, pressing his lips to the Decepticon’s in a softer, gentler kiss that would draw him away from that state of processor. Sunstreaker brushed his lip plates past Vortex’s cheek, mouth coming to hover over the flat audial receptor.

Digits soft on the Combaticon’s plating, Sunstreaker whispered a softly spoken promise. “He will die fucking screaming.” He pressed his lips to the dark audial beneath them. “This I promise you Vortex.”

The Decepticon nodded against the other’s chest. “See that he does.”

“I only have one request.” The golden mech said darkly.

“What?”

“Hold it together for one night Tex. Just one night, and I’ll help you work it out. Just...trust us. Just trust _me_ this one time.”

Vortex sighed at the gruff words. “Why do you get to have all the fun?”

Sunstreaker snorted and drew away from the ‘Con, chucking his chin. “Then I will be sure to have enough fun for both of us.”

Vortex drew further away from the frontliner. “See that you do. I want a video.”

Sunstreaker sighed as he watched the now much calmer Decepticon swagger down the hall, back to the others. “I’ll behave for one night.” He called back just as Sunstreaker left the apartment.

Slipping away, Sunstreaker thought about how he would have fun with this, and he knew the one mech that would be oh so willing to help.

()()()

The apartment was nice, beautiful really, just as nice as the one he lived in. Optimus had wanted all the buildings to be the same, all equal since they all fought in the war.

The golden mech ignored the architecture that Mirage had helped design and stood like a cold wraith by the door of the mech he sought. The door chimed and Sunstreaker waited for it to be answered, knowing full well that the occupants would answer at all times of the night.

Frenzy and his shiny red and grey plating answered the door, a small frown on his face. “Whaddya want? It’s late!”

The larger Autobot quirked a brow at the little ‘Con’s tone. Frenzy glared back up at him until his brother smacked him from behind, swatting the back of his helm hard enough to knock him over. Rumble’s small servos rested on his hips in annoyance. “What’cha doing glitch!” the blue mech snapped, ignoring Sunstreaker in favour of glaring at his twin. “That’s not how Jazz taught us how to answer the door!”

Frenzy popped back on to his pedes, spinning to face his twin, rage in his face. “Don’t hit me fragger!”

“Don’t be ah glitch then! You know dat Prowl and Jazz would be mad at answer’en the door like dat!”

The small red mech glowered at his brother before lunging at him, knocking them both down in a mess of punching and kicking limbs. Sunstreaker sighed and narrowed his optics on the duelling pair, wondering if this was Primus’s way of making him pay for all he and his twin had done; having to deal with twins that were _just like him and Sides_.

Sunstreaker stepped over and past he twins, nudging them with his pede so they were past the thresh hold of their apartment before he let the door slide shut. No sooner had the door swooshed shut behind him, Jazz and Soundwave came bursting from down the other side of the apartment.

The golden mech side stepped the pair of thirds, watching with minor amusement as Soundwave’s monotone voice snapped out. “Frenzy. Rumble. Cease actions. Behaviour, unacceptable.”

The cassette player prised the pair apart, holding them by an arm, one in each of his servos. Jazz stood back, looking slightly amused by the whole scene. It was more than likely this wasn’t the first time it happened.

“Order. Time out. Couch. Immediately.”

Frenzy pouted. “Aww boss, come on!”

“Negative! Time out. Immediately!”

Both Frenzy and Rumble pouted at their carrier as the larger mech released them before glaring at each other and sullenly walking to the couch, where they sat unhappy and pouting at the blank television.

Soundwave turned to Jazz, frame posture apologetic towards the Autobot sub commander. Jazz beamed an affectionate smile at him. “It’s fine Sounders. Dem little guys don’t even hold ah candle ta the stunts that ol’ Sunny here used ta pull wit’ Sides.”       

Soundwave nodded. “Understanding. Appreciated.”

Jazz’s smile only widened at the Decepticon, his servo brushing at the others shoulder. “It’s fine mech. Now, get back to polishing Ravage. She’ll be furious if ya don’t finish her armour.”

Soundwave nodded again, giving a small nod to Sunstreaker which was returned, before he turned to head back down the hall. He paused, for only a moment to bark another order to the small twins, “Order. No television. No Videogames. Understood?”

They both sighed and the monotone “Yes” echoed out of the room. Then, without acknowledging anyone else, Soundwave returned to the room down the hall, presumably to complete polishing Ravage’s armour.

Jazz watched the Decepticon walk down the hall, affection clearly on his face. He gave himself a little shake before turning to face Sunstreaker. “What can ah do ya fer Sunny?”

Sunstreaker suddenly became sullen and serious. “Has Prowl told you what happened?”

The sub commander became stiff before going lax again. “Aye, he did.” He glanced at the twins on the couch, who were suddenly far too quiet. “Shall we talk in mah office?”

Sunstreaker nodded, letting Jazz lead him to another room in their apartment, away from prying audials and optics.

Once the door was sealed firmly behind him, Jazz turned to the front liner, dark and angry. Thoughts of Soundwave and his treatment at the servos of Sentinel Prime clear in Jazz’s processor as he grinned at the larger gold mech. “So mech, how can ah help ya?”

Sunstreaker smirked back, his own smile just as dark and sharp. “Oh, you’ll like this.”

Jazz met Sunstreaker’s smirk with his own, thoughts of vengeance firm in their processors.

()()()    

It was a nice day again Onslaught noted with disinterest, his mood dark, depressive as Bluestreak led him down the street and back home. All the time the small gunner’s equally small servo clung to his large one.

_‘Great.’_ Onslaught thought dryly. ‘ _They’re all going to be overly protective again._ ’

That would mean restricted privileges again, Bluestreak and the twins would be paranoid over his wellbeing, his safety; no more walks alone to down town Iacon.

Prime and Prowl had indeed returned to Ratchet’s clinic, and had questioned him, tried to take a statement. Onslaught had shut down again, gone blank, refused to answer questions, didn’t give a name, wouldn’t even talk with them.

Besides, he already told the mech who mattered who had done it. That was enough.

Yet, something niggled at the back of his processor, something was off in the way the Prime and his second questioned him. They were almost lax in it, didn’t press him for answers. The Decepticon had assumed that it was only because they were soft sparked Autobots, but...but Bluestreak knew who had hurt him.

Had the gunner told? Did they already know? Then what was the point of questioning him at all?

The questions ran around Onslaught’s helm, as the little gunner chatted happily about some redundant something or other, trying to bring some ounce of normalcy back into his life.

Onslaught snapped back to reality when Bluestreak’s small servo suddenly spasmed in his large one. The little gunner twined their digits together, squeezing Onslaught’s servo tighter, almost in nervousness. The Autobot’s door wings shot high on his back as he fell silent, worry that was clearly visible on his face, flickered through his EM field.

Onslaught followed the small mech’s line of sight to a cluster of mechs that stood in a tight circle at the entrance of Moonracer’s night club, _The Dirty Frog_. The femme had chosen an Earth type name to be different, it sounded almost exotic to the neutrals. That and Shrapnel found the name funny, made him laugh, and if it made Shrapnel laugh, Moonracer would move the Well of Sparks and Cybertron to ensure that whatever it was stayed.

Blue optics suddenly shone up at Onslaught, worry with a hint of fear there. “I wonder what’s going on. The Dirty Frog is usually closed for the day-cycle. I hope Moonracer is okay, Shrapnel too.”

Onslaught’s tactical processor was curious to know what was going on as well, red optics narrowing behind his clean visor. He glanced up, more out of habit after of eons of dealing with Vortex and other flying Decepticons, and noticed that the highest window was smashed.

The Combaticon felt his frame rise to a battle ready state, the collar not hampering it for once since he wanted to ensure Bluestreak’s safety. As much as it was Bluestreak’s duty to protect him, Onslaught, a much larger and stronger mech, thought it was his duty to protect the little Praxian.

“Then let’s go see.” The commander rumbled lowly, engine revving dangerously even, low, ready to shift power and fight should the need arise.

Bluestreak frowned, his servo clenching at Onslaught’s again, worried that perhaps it was one of their friends that was the cause of the crowd.                       

The pair slowly crossed the street, moving carefully through the throng of mechs, Bluestreak never once loosening his grip on the Combaticon’s servo. Being taller than the Autobot that picked his way through the crowd, Onslaught saw the cause of the crowd long before Bluestreak.

Moonracer stood by the entrance of her club, one delicate servo pressed to her hip, the other holding a data pad in front of her. Shrapnel was to her left, the Insecticon large and imposing, antlers twitching dangerously above him, glowing soft blue with electricity as he scanned the crowd. Moonracer’s ever present guard, her bringer of death, should she decree it.

Prowl stood at her right, face serious as he carefully read the data pad that the femme presented to him, Lazerbeak perched on his shoulder, her wings softly gliding over her lean frame as she also read the data pad.  

At their pedes, a crushed frame lay mangled; the now dull grey armour was covered in dried purple energon. Once proud wings were crumpled and torn from where the frame impacted the ground. Onslaught felt his optics go wide as Bluestreak lead the commander through the crowd and to Prowl, no doubt to get more information.

Onslaught felt himself being lead along, his blood red optics pinned to the mangled frame that was once the shuttle Rook. A shocked numbness crept along the Combaticon’s lines as he stared at the grey frame of his attacker, cold and dead on the ground.

A larger part of him was almost giddy with excitement at seeing Rook dead, his attacker smashed to nothing. His tactical processor however, demanded to know how his attacker ended up in this state; not because he cared that Rook was dead, but more to the point, had he suffered enough? Had someone beaten Onslaught to killing him or was it an accident, and if someone had gone out of their way to kill Rook, why bother?

Red optics slid to the back of Bluestreak’s helm, tiny servo still griping his larger one hard as the gunner led him to Prowl. Bluestreak had been with him all night; that much Onslaught was sure of, with his small frame pressed up against his own.

Confused, Onslaught let himself be led, optics now pinned back on what was left of Rook as Bluestreak finally made it to Prowl’s side.

“Hi Prowl.” The Autobot tactician glanced up and nodded to the young gunner before his blue optics dipped back down to the data pad. “Moonracer, Shrapnel.” The Autobot femme gave Bluestreak a nod while the Decepticon never turned his helm to the smaller mech but he did greet the pair. “Bluestreak, Onslaught, Slaught.” As he continued to search the crowd, checking that there was no threat to Moonracer.

“Big crowd.” The gunner commented, his blue optics wide and almost innocent as they glanced at what was left of Rook. “What happened?”

For a moment neither of the older Autobots said anything, both still reading the data pad in Moonracer’s servo. After a breem, the older Praxian’s optics came up, cold and hard as always to glance at Bluestreak.

“It appears that Rook committed suicide.” Prowl carefully glanced up the building, ensuring he didn’t disturb Lazerbeak on his shoulder. “He cut his thrusters and jumped from the tallest apartment of the building.” He glanced back down again. “He also opened his spark casing to ensure it shattered on impact.”

Onslaught felt a flutter of surprise shudder through him. Rook had not seemed suicidal. In fact, he was the opposite; he seemed to relish in what he was doing, looked forward to doing it again.

Quickly focusing on Bluestreak, Onslaught frowned behind his battle mask when he saw no surprise on the gunner’s face. His metal brow pulled down below his chevron, a false frown spilled over Bluestreak’s face plates. “You’re sure Prowl.”

There was no doubt in the Autobot’s optics. “We are sure. He even left a note, apologising and atoning for his sins.”

Moonracer huffed as she let Prowl take the data pad and crossed her arms, sounding more annoyed than upset. “This is going to kill business for me.”

Shrapnel huffed by her side. “Sentinel’s mechs bring in little revenue, revenue. Cause more fights than the others, others. Autobots and neutrals will make up the difference easily, easily.” His large head swivelled to face the turquoise femme. “Do not worry Moonracer, racer. We shall be okay, okay.”

The Autobot femme glanced at her Decepticon charge, her face soft and a smile flickering across her lips at him. “We will Shrapnel.”

Discomfort rippled through Onslaught as he watched the three Autobots talk to each other, all seemed too calm, too unsurprised at what had happened, as if they knew something.

Hidden red optics narrowed on the gunner at his side while the Autobot’s continued to talk about what had happened, what the best course of action would be until Bluestreak’s soft voice broke through the commander’s stupor. “Well I’d better get going. We need see each other when there’s not an emergency Prowl.”

The Autobot tactician smiled fondly at his fellow Praxian, giving a small nod of agreement. “And I’m sure Jazz would appreciate that as well Bluestreak. I’ll comm. you later about it.”  

Beaming his easy smile at his commander, Bluestreak nodded his good bye to the others before heading back the way they came, the sniper once again carefully leading Onslaught through the throng of mechs.

Only once they were away from the crowd did Onslaught yank Bluestreak against him, draping a heavy arm over his shoulders, being mindful of the door wings, and pressing the other against his frame. Bending down, he whispered into Bluestreak’s audial, his voice rough with a touch of anger. “What did you do?”

Bluestreak’s blue optics were wide as they gazed up at the large commander. “I don’t know what you’re talking about Ons.”

“Don’t lie to me!” He hissed back, his arm tightening around the Autobot. “Rook was not suicidal and you’re the only mech I told who did this!  So I ask again Bluestreak, what did you do?”

Something changed in the little sniper, the air around him seemed to grow cold as he became stiff and serious, and he frowned up at the Decepticon. “We can talk about it later Onslaught. It’s not safe out here.” Bluestreak’s optics followed as two of Sentinel’s femmes rushed past, one was the one with green optics that liked to bother Vortex. “Sentinel’s people are everywhere.” He muttered while leaning into Onslaught’s hold as his helm dipped down.

An angry growl rumbled from Onslaught’s engine, but he left it alone for now. He’d get his answers one way or another.

()()()

The rest of the walk home was quiet, neither the Autobot nor the Decepticon speaking to each other. Bluestreak’s silence was particularly disturbing, since it was often a challenge to get the little mech to shut up.

Seeing the door to their apartment was a blessing. All Onslaught wanted was his answers, a cube of energon and his berth. Then everything could return to normal, and he could forget this whole shameful nonsense ever happened.

The moment the door slid safely behind them, Onslaught released Bluestreak from his iron grip, turning the Autobot to face him, determined to get his answers. Naturally, his own team mates would ruin his opportunity.

Brawl came barrelling down the hall when he heard his commander enter the apartment, could feel his EM field within the area once again. The tank said nothing to the anti-air craft carrier, launching himself at Onslaught in the manner befitting a sparkling and wrapped his arms tightly around the Decepticon’s waist.

Still feeling weak from the surgery and energon loss, Onslaught lost his footing and tumbled to the ground, landing hard on his aft.

The tank buried his square helm into his commander’s chest plates, squeezing him for all his worth, ignoring the annoyed huff and the snappish “Brawl!” that came from Onslaught.

“We were so worried!” The tank cried. His thick arms shaking as he hugged his commander.

“Brawl get off!” Onslaught snapped, shooting a glare at Bluestreak who failed to hide his smirk at the tank’s behaviour.

Blast Off came around the corner next, huffed a little sigh and lifted the tank from their commander’s frame. “At least let them get through the door first.” He grumbled as Onslaught slowly climbed to his pedes, his frame still hurting from the surgery.

Brawl’s visor flashed, distress flickering through his EM as his fists clenched and unclenched. Blast Off ignored him, turning his attention back to his commander. “You are alright then?”

Onslaught nodded, trying to get his shoulders to readjust evenly. They needed a good greasing, but he wouldn’t ask one of the Autobots to do it for him. “I told you, I’m fine.”

Blast Off nodded, knowing that if Onslaught wanted to talk about it, he would seek out who he chose and pushing him would only make him clam up tighter. Instead, Blast Off let go of Brawl, letting the tank move at a much more sedate pace, and wrapped his arms around one of Onslaught’s large ones.

The tank dropped his helm, visor pinned to the floor, his voice low and shaky. “We didn’t think you were going to come home this time. We were worried about you.”

Before, during the war, Brawl would have never acted this way, would have never displayed so much emotion so easily. How they had changed.

“I’m fine.” The larger Combaticon rumbled, his large servo coming to rest on his subordinate’s helm. “Now stop worrying about me.”

Bluestreak cleared his throat, drawing the larger Decepticon’s attention. “Let’s go to the living room, I’m sure the others want to see you too.”

“I’d rather not.” Onslaught grumbled, considering it a near damned miracle that he allowed Brawl to cling to him so.

Blast Off’s helm canted, a smirk playing on his face under his mask. “Would you rather everyone slowly drift into your quarters to curl up with you on your berth?” Onslaught’s optics narrowed at the shuttle, not finding him overly amusing. “And you know that they’ll do it to.”

Deflating, Onslaught’s shoulders drooped and glaring at Blast Off, the commander snarled. “Fine.”

No doubt still grinning behind that damned mask, Blast Off turned and headed back to the living room, Onslaught, Bluestreak and Brawl in tow.

The Decepticon commander felt his tanks churn, nerves building up at seeing his team again and having to talk with them, having to talk about what happened. Although he could just clam up at their questions and snap at them, which was just as bad.

Blast Off took his usual place on the backless couch, stretching out on it, visor still focused on his commander, worried. Swindle was curled on the window sill, data pad in his lap as he went through an inventory. He glanced up and looked as though he wanted to stand, say something but he decided against it, sinking back into the window sill, giving his commander a small nod and a shaky smile. “Welcome back Ons.” He said softly.

Nodding to his subordinate, Onslaught felt hyperaware of the fact that all optics were on him, Autobots and Decepticons alike.

The twins were curled on the other couch, Vortex between them with his upper torso sprawled across Sunstreaker and pedes in Sideswipe’s lap.

When the ‘copter saw his leader however, he slowly detangled himself from the gold and red frames and quickly crossed the room to him. Onslaught felt his frame tense, unsure as to what the crazy Decepticon would do.

Vortex stopped a servos span away from the larger Combaticon, gave him a quick up and down look, ensuring that he was okay before he wrapped his arms around his middle and squeezed just as Brawl had.

Sighing, Onslaught knew Vortex was terrible with words, and feelings baffled him. This was the only way he knew how to show his relief that Onslaught was okay, that he had come home to them a little banged up, but ultimately, whole.

Curling his larger arm around the smaller Decepticon’s helm, Onslaught retuned the hug, squeezing briefly at the helm and shoulders caught in the embrace.

No one said a thing as Onslaught released Vortex from his one armed hug, seeing as Brawl refused to relinquish his hold on his other arm. Vortex silently moved to his side, a dark sentry forever at his commander’s side.

“What happened to Rook?”  Onslaught demanded; his voice a rough whip in the quiet room.

No one said a thing, but no one looked away either. They looked as though they were trying to figure out what to say, and how to go about saying it.

Sunstreaker sighed whilst pulling a buffer, polish and grease from his sub space. Uncurling from his spot on the couch, he glanced up at Onslaught. “Sit down.” He nodded to the spot between his legs.

Onslaught felt his brow rise in confusion. “A polish does not seem like the way to go about telling me what happened to Rook.”

Bluestreak nudged the Decepticon’s arm, an amused smile spread across his face. “We are able to multi task Onslaught.”

Setting up the buffer, Sunstreaker snorted. “Multitask my aft. _I’m_ going to polish you, since you desperately need it, and grease your joints since Ratchet demanded it. Bluestreak and Sideswipe can explain what happened.” Icy blue optics drifted up to meet Onslaught’s. “So sit down.”

“I don’t need…”

“Onslaught,” Sunstreaker sighed, crossing his arms. “You need a polish, and Ratchet will remove my armour if you don’t let me grease your joints. Now, sit down and we’ll tell you what happened.”

Onslaught gave the Autobot a flat look while Vortex at his side, shifted nervously, unsure once more if the Autobots could be trusted.

Sideswipe flashed the Decepticons a grin. “Come on guys, we’re not going to hurt you.” The crimson mech, known for his pranks and cruelty on the battle field, shrugged. “It’s just a buffer.”

The Decepticons hesitated again, they would be putting themselves in a certain, vulnerable position. They were still nervous around their protectors, despite the fact that these Autobots had never hurt them.

A small push from Bluestreak from behind nudged at Onslaught’s shoulder, a gentle push to give the indication to sit down. The big mech glanced down at the little mech, frowning at him behind his mask, one servo twitching.

He knew he could trust Bluestreak and the twins, should be able to trust them, but that red symbol on their frames made him shudder and twitch. He and his team had suffered so much at the servos of mech’s who wore that symbol.

These however, were Optimus’s mech’s, not Sentinel’s and were a completely different class of mech. They perhaps weren’t the embodiment of nobility, but their sparks were kind. Sunstreaker would not hurt him; this much Onslaught was sure of.

With that surety, the massive Decepticon let his shoulders fall loose, moving to the golden Autobot, dragging Brawl with him. After a moment of hesitation, Vortex followed, claws clinking at his side. Onslaught managed to shake Brawl off long enough to sit between Sunstreaker’s knees, his back to the frontliner, shifting the armoured shoulder plates forward, giving the Autobot full access to the wires and cables underneath.

In the back of his processor, Onslaught was well aware that Sunstreaker could disable him at any moment, could incapacitate his arms, push his face into the floor, hike up his hips and do whatever he pleased.

At this thought, his frame stiffened, tensed as Sunstreaker gently patted his shoulder where the panels over lapped, before taking a healthy servo full of grease, working it into the tense and weary cables. As Onslaught began to relax at the frontliner’s touch, small bolts of pleasure shot through his massive frame, helping him relax further against the couch and into Sunstreaker’s touch.

Brawl huffed, annoyed, and dropped beside Onslaught’s leg, his square helm turning to Sunstreaker, servo out. “Pass some grease Sunny, I’ll start on his legs.”

A grin passed over the Autobot’s handsome face as he held out the jar to the tank, offering the grease. Next the crimson Autobot slid from the couch, resting on the opposite side of Brawl, taking a servo full as well. “I’ll start on this leg then Brawl.” Sideswipe beamed at the tank, his digits digging into the Combaticon’s leg.

As Vortex sat at Onslaught’s side, close enough to touch his commander’s plating, but not daring too, despite how much he wanted to, the large Combaticon snarled at the three that greased his joints. “I don’t need to be coddled.”

Brawl hesitated, his dark digits already half into his commander’s transformation seams. Sunstreaker ignored the commander, gently working at the wires and cables he could reach. Sideswipe turned his helm, a gentle smile on his lips. “It’s not coddling Onslaught, it’s pampering.”

“There is no difference.” The Combaticon snarled as Bluestreak sat down on the opposite side to Vortex, his servo brushing at Onslaught’s.  

“There is.” Sunstreaker said firmly from above him, working at his shoulders. “If we were coddling you, we would be speaking in low tones and using gentle, un-invasive touches. Not digging around under your plating.”

Onslaught snarled at the frontliner while Bluestreak patted the Combaticon’s servo, a soft smile on his lips. “It’s okay Ons, just relax. We so rarely get to pamper you, give us this one.”

The commander huffed, more annoyed than anything else. Finally Swindle moved from his spot at the window, sitting beside Sunstreaker on the couch, just to be close to the others before he went back to reading his data pad.

Relenting as the twins and Brawl greased his frame, relishing in the delightful feel of someone else doing the maintenance of his joints, a warm tingle spread over his sensor net for the first time since the attack.

Vortex was silent beside him, leaning against Sunstreaker’s leg, helm on his knee as he watched his commander, his EM field calm and fuzzy against his own; finally relaxed since he found out what had happened to Onslaught. No doubt Sunstreaker told him exactly what had happened to Rook, it was the only thing that would have calmed the ‘copter.

Relaxing a little more, knowing he was safe with his Autobots, Onslaught’s helm turned to the little Autobot at his side, one question burning hotter than the others. “Why?”

Bluestreak glanced up, his digits still toying at Onslaught’s teal plating. “Why, what?” The little Praxian asked.

Venting, Onslaught was careful not to shrug so as to not disrupt Sunstreaker’s work. “Why bother? Why, go out and kill Rook. Why make it look like an accident? Why go through all the trouble?”

Five sets of Decepticon optics turned to look at the three Autobot’s in the room, all wanting an answer, desperate to know.

Bluestreak thought for a moment, trying desperately to find the words, when Sideswipe beat him to the punch. With a gentle shrug, optics still pinned on the massive leg he was greasing, the crimson mech grinned. “You guys are family now, whether we all like it or not.” Blue optics glanced up at the Combaticon. “And don’t get me wrong Onslaught, we love having you guys here, only thing we’d change would be the collars. Anyway, you’re family, like Bluestreak and Sunstreaker, and if you tangle with one of us, you tangle with all of us.” The crimson mech said firmly, optics going back to the leg, drawing the limb into his lap.

Brawl stopped what he was doing, confusion flicking through his EM field. “But…the war, everything we did…” He trailed off, afraid to say something that would get him in trouble. Sentinel had told him how he deserved what happened to him, it was his punishment for all he had done during the war.

The frontliner glanced up, and putting the tank at ease, Sunstreaker snorted. “Doesn’t matter.”

“But…”

“Doesn’t matter Brawl.” The frontliner said firmly. “The war is over and you have paid _more_ than your dues, far past your dues.” His voice became hot and angry. “What Sentinel did was wrong. You never deserved what happened to you.”

No matter how often the Autobots said that, it never quite rang true to any of the Combaticon’s. Knowing this, Sunstreaker continued. “Sentinel is sick, twisted. None of us ever wanted this, but we’re all stuck with it now and we manage the best we can.” Blue optics held Brawl’s stare, knowing that everyone else was listening to what he was saying. “And despite all that, all that has happened, you are still our family. Not just some responsibility, not just some duty to be carried out and sure as hell not some pet that needs to be cared for at all times.”

Finished, Sunstreaker looked back down at his work, Vortex pressing in tight to his leg, when Bluestreak continued. “Sunny’s right. You’re more the just a bunch of mechs that live in our home, you’re part of _our_ family. It doesn’t matter how you came to live with us, just that you did. And that’s all that matters.”

The Decepticons shifted uneasily, unsure of how to deal with such a declaration, when Sideswipe decided that there was still a little left unsaid. “And as family,” his blue optics glanced up at his twin, then to Bluestreak. “We take care of each other. It doesn’t matter who or what the enemy is, but if they attack you, it’s an attack on all of us.”

“And I dislike being attacked.” Sunstreaker said firmly, his voice sure.

All the Decepticons could do was stare, stunned at the Autobot’s and their odd sort of ways. Gathering his wits, Onslaught managed to voice his concern. “You think we’re family?” he tried to ignore how weak his voice sounded, how rough it was.

The blocks in the gestalt bonds were lifted and Onslaught could feel his team’s confusion, their fear at being lied to as well as their undeniable hope that the Autobots weren’t lying to him, that this wasn’t just some sick ruse.

Their Autobots didn’t let them down as “Yes” Rang from all three of them, their voices rising as one, sure in their answer.

“We may not like the circumstances in which you came to us,” Sideswipe started, his digits still working at Onslaught’s taunt cables, when his twin interrupted him.

“Now that’s the understatement of the century.” Sunstreaker mocked.

Sideswipe ignored his twin. “But we don’t regret you all being here. The war doesn’t matter anymore; all that does matter is you being here with us.”

“That…” Sunstreaker sighed, sounding disappointed. “And getting these fucking collars off your necks.”

The other two Autobots nodded, when Vortex sat up a little, leaning away from Sunstreaker’s leg. “We killed and tortured your allies during the war. _I_ did terrible things to your allies. I don’t deserve this, so why bother?”

The Autobots sighed, this was a conversation they had, had many a time with their Deceptions before. Shrugging, Sunstreaker’s greasy servo gently rested on Vortex’s shoulder, his thumb running soothingly across the plate. “And how many of your allies have I killed? Maimed? I certainly lost count.”

Sunstreaker shrugged as Bluestreak leaned over Onslaught’s massive frame, servo petting at Vortex’s. “The war is over Tex and we can’t be stuck in the past anymore. We have to move on and look to the future. Besides, we have new problems now.”

“And this,” Sunstreaker flicked at the collar at Vortex’s neck. “Is not what I fought for, for that long. I wanted something better, something brighter. Not more oppression.”

“That’s what got us in this mess in the first place.” Sideswipe added bitterly.

Vortex huffed, under Onslaught’s watchful gaze, dropping his battle mask, scrubbing at his face, confusion welling with his frustrations. “I don’t understand this emotional crap! You should hate us, relish in hurting us. We would have!”

“Maybe, but we don’t.” Bluestreak said quietly.

“Again, that’s not what we fought for.” Sunstreaker said again.

“I still don’t get it.” Vortex snapped, his confusion turning to fear, turning to anger.     

Sensing the Decepticons confusion, Sunstreaker leaned down, over Onslaught’s shoulder, servo still greasy and dirty and he gently gripped the ‘copter’s helm, pressing his lips to the other’s. Vortex sighed into the gentle kiss, responding, glossas tangling in their usual game of give and take.

Pulling away, Sunstreaker grinned at the Decepticon. “You don’t have to understand why we feel this way. Just do what everyone else does and chalk it up to us being Autobots.”

Onslaught snorted, narrowing his gaze at the Autobot that had just calmed Vortex with a gentle kiss. “Really, was that necessary?”

Blue optics turned to look at Onslaught after his sarcastic remark and a smirk crawled over Sunstreaker’s mouth. “Take off your mask.”

Red optics narrowed at the gentle request and while Sideswipe continued to grease his leg, and with his team watching them closely, Vortex urged him to do it.

Hesitantly, Onslaught dropped his battle mask, exposing his face to the frontliner. Grinning, Sunstreaker gently took the commander’s chin, tilting his larger helm up to meet his own and pressing his lip plates onto Onslaught’s, the golden Autobot kissed the commander for the first time.

The Decepticon’s optics dimmed as the warmth from his mouth spread from the gentle touches of the frontliner’s lips. His engine skipped and his vents hitched as warmth and pleasure spread throughout his frame for the first time since before Sentinel’s compound.

These mechs were doing these things, this kiss, the greasing, the polishing, because they wanted to, not because they had to and to Onslaught, it made a world of difference.

Sunstreaker pulled away from the gentle kiss first, his optics dim and a half grin on his face. “You are ours as much as we are yours. We are a family. A slightly messed up family, but a family none the less. And a family takes care of each other, regardless of the dumb things each member may do.” Then Sunstreaker’s smirk darkened into something a little more sinister. “And so help me if anyone else tries to hurt you, any of you. Because I will kill them, just like I did Rook, and my extended family will help me do it.”

By _extended family_ Onslaught knew the frontliner meant the Autobot’s. For a moment, the tactician in him thought of how he could utilize that to his advantage, play the Autobots for all their worth. But Onslaught quickly squashed that thought; no point in screwing up what they had now, not when their little trio of Autobot’s were promising to kill anyone who harmed them.

Snorting to himself, Onslaught had never needed nor wanted anyone to take care of him, and he would never admit it to his team but he could almost see the appeal.

“What about the collars?” The commander asked.

Sunstreaker frowned at him, digits gently tracing over the steal at his throat. “We’re working on it but we have to be careful. Soon though, this will be nothing like a bad memory too.”

Without another word, Sunstreaker sat back up, going back to working at the commander’s shoulder cables, leaving him with his thoughts for a moment. Vortex leaned back down against the golden leg, optics shuttering to finally rest.

The Autobot’s, their Autobot’s, at least had promised to care for them, promised to free them one day. Onslaught had never believed it before, had thought it to be a pretty lie, until today.

Bluestreak had promised to avenge him, promised to punish Rook for what he had done and they had done just that. The Combaticon glanced at the Praxian’s grinning face, a small thread of trust unspooling from his spark as he felt his team thinking the same thing.

Onslaught finally fully relaxed in the Autobots hold as they greased his joints, sinking into the experience as he felt his team begin to wind down, drifting off to recharge. It had been a long joor, and none of them had gotten a decent rest after their heat cycle.

Suddenly, Sideswipe glanced up, a sloppy grin spreading across his face. “How come Sunny gets to kiss everyone?”

Icy blue optics shot up, intending to snap back at his twin when Bluestreak beat him to the punch. “Because he’s a hussy.”

Peals of laughter suddenly broke from both Decepticons and Autobots alike while Sunstreaker sputtered, indignation ringing in his tone. “How do you even know that word!?”         

Bluestreak shrugged, almost sheepish. “I don’t know. I learnt it somewhere on Earth.”

More laughter followed the Praxian’s words as Sunstreaker huffed and continued to work down the Combaticon’s arms, a small amount of normality returning to their world. They were laughing again, laughing together, for the first time in joors.

For the first time, in a very long time, Onslaught was confident that this time, they would make it out on top of this. If their Autobots words held true, they really did have a real chance to survive this encounter and have an actual life outside of what they had been dealt.

The trust spread a little further, taking a tentative hope with it, and Onslaught was okay with that.


	4. Insecicons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moonracer and Shrapnel explore their new world order.

Important Information  
“Blah” Speaking  
::Blah:: comm. link  
‘Blah’ bonded speech  
‘Blah’ thinking

Astrosecond- 2.5 earth Seconds  
Klik- 150 earth seconds/ 2.5 earth Minutes  
Orn- 150 earth minutes/ 2.5 earth Hours  
Joor- 60 earth hours/2.5 earth Days  
Metacycle- 17.5 earth days/2.5 earth Weeks  
Vorn- 10 earth weeks/2.5 earth months  
Stellercycle-30 earth months/2.5 years  
Breem-slang for a moment/minute.  
Night Cycle: star down to star up  
Day Cycle: Star up to star down

Authors Note: Wholly crap! After three years an update! Say what!!!! 

As always, a huge thank you to Darkness_Rising for betaing! :D  
Disclaimer: I own only my OC’s, nothing else.

+  
Sitting in the light of the new Cybertronian sun, Shrapnel widened his antlers high above him, soaking up the rays as he relaxed in front of Bumblebee’s treat café.

Sighing softly, the Insecticon’s red optics dimmed happily behind his visor, his antlers crackling pleasantly over him, blue electricity crawling over the sensitive metal. He settled a little further into his seat, crossing his arms on the table, helm settling on his forearm guards as he waited for Moonracer’s return.

The subsequent months of his life had been a massive improvement since he had been taken from Sentinel Prime’s strong hold and thrust into Moonracer’s life. A dozy smile spread across his face at the through of the femme, her mint green armour and her overly happy personality.

She was naive and soft but she was kind to him, took care of him when others had been so cruel to him, despite the fact he had been so cruel to others. For a moment he thought back to that place and his lip curled, the electricity gathering at his antlers in anger.

That dark hole where he had lost Bombshell and hadn’t seen Kickback since he was removed. That awful compound where he had been chained and his legs forced apart. He had cackled as they took him, shooting electricity in every direction until he fell limp from exhaustion. He remembered feeling dirty and broken when they were done with him, left alone and far from his tiny swarm.

He could remember as they dragged Bombshell past his cell, those dead optics cracked and broken, his grey frame limp as they tossed him into the grinder, his frame shredded to nothing and fed to him and likely Kickback.

Optics jammed shut as he grasped his elbows, EM flickering wildly as he thought of Moonracer and her soft voice talking him through his pain, her light servos running over his shuddering panels. He thought of her gentle lips on his armour when she kissed his helm, washing away the pain of losing Bombshell and the guilt of losing Kickback.

He thought about Moonracer’s bar, The Dirty Frog and how hard she worked to make it the best bar possible, and he thought about how much she needed him, how much he needed her. Shrapnel protected her from those who looked to take advantage or hurt her and Moonracer kept him safe from Sentinel Prime, safe and well fed.

Even now it wasn't easy to forget about the compound and the things that had happened there, the things he had seen; he image of Vortex being pressed into a wall and taken in the hall by several guards as he screamed was burned into his memory, as was the memory of Misfire being forced to his knees and his jaw broken.

His frame began to shudder as the dark memories drowned out the happy ones with Moonracer and suddenly the sun felt too hot, too bright. Shrapnel was out in the open, vulnerable and easy to attack, the electricity gathering, ready to defend.

Shrapnel’s anger and hate spread, bubbling from his chest, causing his denta grit while electricity spread from his antlers and down his arms to his digits, along his shoulders and the planes of his back to wrap about his body. The collar around his neck heated up, trying to activate, but his own power could rival it.

He had burned though several whilst trapped within the Prime’s compound. He only thought about it when he had night terrors, which occurred when he tried to recharge away from Moonracer’s warm frame.

His servos shook and his denta grit so tightly he thought his jaw would crack, then something clicked softly on the table before him and a soft EM washed over him. “I’ve got some of the good energon that you like Shrap.” The overly cheerful voice said from above him as Moonracer sat beside him. “It’s still warm too.”

Shrapnel tried to swallow. He wasn’t there, he wasn’t in danger or lost in the dark cell. He’d gotten out of there and he was safe; that had become his mantra. He was safe.

“Shrap?” The soft voice said from his side, concern starting to bleed into the usually happy vocals.

“Shrapnel are you okay?”

The Insecticon felt her nimble servos touching him, to caress his plating, but he jerked away from her, sitting up faster than he usually moved around her. “No! No.” his helm thrashed for a moment, red optics drawing down as his servos fell into his lap. “Don’t touch me yet, yet. You’ll be harmed, harmed.”

Her aquamarine optics widened for a moment in shock, her fear easy to see, but her fear melted away to understanding as Moonracer reached for her own cube of sweet energon, her desire to help Shrapnel evident in her very being.

Nodding, the femme took a sip from her cube as she settled next to Shrapnel, her words low. “You’re okay Shrapnel.” She told him, using the words Eltia-One had taught her to say to him when he was so strung out. “You’re safe with me, I won’t let anyone hurt you.” Like with all the remaining Decepticon’s, the promise of safety was so important.

“I’ll make sure you are well fed and your swarm protected.” Those words were for him and him alone. Insecticons needed a constant source of food and a safe place to raise a swarm; soothing words that Moonracer had learned helped over their short time together to help calm him.

Shrapnel took a shaky breath, his red optics drawing up to catch her pretty aquamarine ones, her sweet smile bringing the small grin to his own mouth, helping his EM to smooth out and the electricity to stop coursing around his tense frame.

He relaxed into the table, his shaky servo clasping the cube she had gotten for him, the liquid inside splashing as he trembled and he forced the memories away, forgetting about the time Misfire had been left alone and sobbing without energon in the cell next to his for three whole days.

The Insecticon nodded at the slight Autobot as he drew his sweet energon to his lips and a soft servo lay on his shoulder guard, Moonracer wincing as the last sparks of electricity shot through her frame. Shrapnel tried to pull from her touch but the femme held firm, her grip tightening.

“Sorry, sorry.” Shrapnel muttered, shoulders hunched. The odd sensation of shame at hurting his guardian and losing Kickback in the darkness burning at his spark.

Face pinched with pain Moonracer grinned at Shrapnel, trying not to let him see the hurt he did to her.

“It’s fine Shrap.” She gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, the pain fading as her frame acclimatized to the electricity. “Why don’t we finish our energon back home? It’ll be quite there.”

Moonracer smiled again, her dainty servo remaining where it was, a firm, safe presence in his new reality.

Swallowing hard Shrapnel nodded, allowing Moonracer’s servo to move to his clawed one to grasp it. Following Moonracer home Shrapnel tried to calm down. He needed to be calm before night fell and it was time to go to The Dirty Frog. Moonracer needed constant protection from those who were willing to do her harm, to take advantage of her naive nature.

His claws curled around her small servo, drawing her bright optics to his dark visor, Shrapnel a full head taller than her, and she smiled up at him. He grinned briefly down at her before the smirk flickered away, his protocols running hot and high, demanding to keep his swarm leader safe; to be her right wing.

She had saved his life and this was the least he could do for her.   
***  
Moonracer was startled awake by screaming, her battle protocols snapping online and blaster coming to servo as she jerked awake. Bolting upright she held her blaster firmly at arm’s length, searching for the non-existent threat, but there was nothing but darkness around her in the now silent room.

Gasping, Moonracer made a weak noise as she forced herself to calm down and lower her blaster, sub spacing it. Shaking as she fought off the panic, Moonracer swallowed as she buried her face in her servos for a moment, forcing away the memories of the old days, of always being afraid that Shockwave would finally find them.

Then she heard the scream again, followed by a thump from the room next to hers and then silence, the sudden quiet thick in her small apartment, causing fear to course through her frame.

Swallowing hard, Moonracer gathered her courage, wishing not for the first time that she had taken Chromia or Elita-One’s offer of living with them and not alone with the bug; but Shrapnel had been so out of sorts then, so afraid and nervous of the others that it had taken her orns just for him to allow her to touch him.

He would not have been able to handle living with two other femmes, especially when those femmes were Chromia and Elita-One.

Despite his broken state, Shrapnel scared her. He was larger than she, far more powerful and had power she could only imagine. She doubted the collar that circled his throat would truly stop him should he lose his control.

Sometimes Moonracer wondered why she had gone out of her way to remove him from Sentinel’s hold, she should have left someone else to take him, someone more capable than she; Arcee perhaps? Or Firestar. Any of them would have done a better job.

Heaving a sigh Moonracer tossed her legs over the side of her berth and with quick, light steps she padded from her room and quietly entered the room next to hers. The room was just as dark as hers and it was deserted, Shrapnel’s berth empty.

Fidgeting by the door her fear returned; knowing that there was a large, mentally damaged Insecticon hiding in the room doing nothing to set her mind at ease. Moonracer swallowed hard again and continued to think that Shrapnel would never hurt her.

She hoped.

The dim light from Cybertron’s moon reflected through the window, casting long shadows around Shrapnel’s small quarters.

Moonracer took a deep, calming breath, striving for confidence as weakness never did well with Shrapnel, and slowly she lowered herself to the floor, laying on her belly to peer into the darkness under the berth.

Shrapnel lay curled in a tight ball, helm squeezed between his arms and servos pressed to his audials, his back pressed to the wall. Hidden in the inky black shadows Moonracer could see his frame trembling, the shadows playing across his face and hiding what she already knew was there.

It always crushed her to see the look of hurt and fear on his face, Moonracer aware that she would never take that hurt away.

“S-Shrapnel?” She called out softly too him, edging her servo towards the berth, stopping before she passed the threshold to his hiding place.

Bright red optics flicked online, wide and full of unspoken fear, the light from his optics showing the slope of his nose and the high arch of his cheeks.

Moonracer forced a smile, the exhaustion from the day and night’s work catching up with her, Shrapnel likely just as tired. “Hey. There you are.”

She always kept her tone soft and low for him, never loud or abrasive, especially when he had been woken by night terrors. “It’s okay Shrapnel, I promise you’re okay.”

Moonracer held her servo out to him, palm up and Shrapnel shrunk away, drawing further away from her, shifting his elbows so that they hid the lower part of his face.

Moonracer felt her spark constrict and sink as his EM reeled in tight to his frame. She forced her smile to stay where it was, tight with her own sadness. “Hey, come on Shrap.” Her smile spread a little wider, still not quite reaching her optics. “Why don’t you come out from under there and we’ll go back to my quarters.”

Red optics stared back at her, wide and unmoving, and Moonracer could feel the current swirling around him as his antlers charged. The Autobot didn’t dare touch him until he calmed down, not unless she wished to be attacked, so she waited in the silence, her servo still but close, waiting for him to take it. Whilst she waited, Moonracer pressed her energy out a little further, letting it brush his swirling, disoriented field.

The Insecticon gave a moment of resistance, pushing against the soothing EM before twinning their energies together, his own dragging hers in tighter, deeper, closer to his trembling frame and Moonracer forced a soft smile, feeling that Shrapnel was close to snapping out of his panicked state, closer to remembering that he was away from Sentinel and the things he had done to him.

The femme was never quite prepared for when Shrapnel shifted from nightmares to reality and she gave a start when the larger mech suddenly snatched at her wrist, dragging her under the berth and into the inky darkness with him. His electricity charge still swirled around his larger frame, encompassing her own but he no longer classified her as the enemy; she was a swarm member, Moonracer was safe to touch.

The Autobot was unable to fight her flinch as the current buzzed around her, making her squirm in discomfort, the feeling of having so much power around her and knowing that should Shrapnel loose his careful control, he could kill her. But on nights like these, when Shrapnel would wrap his much larger, more powerful body around her small lean one, his whole frame trembling and fighting dry sobs, Moonracer would force her own fears and insecurities away. Shrapnel was damaged and alone, swarmless, and she was all he had left. Her rejection would crush what little of him there was left and would likely push him down the same path that Shockwave took.

Moonracer didn’t want that, she didn’t want to have to be in Prowl’s position and identify the body whilst workers scrapped the destroyed frame from the sidewalk, so instead she held him, pressing her smaller frame flush to his, allowing Shrapnel to burrow his face into the crook of her throat, hiding from the frightening world they now lived in.   
It was safe under the berth, hidden in the darkness there, like hiding in a cave dwelling much like the one he had back on Earth. Shrapnel was safe with Moonracer and with the current he generated swirling around them, nothing could touch him.

If Shrapnel concentrated enough, Moonracer’s small frame could be mistaken for Kickback’s; small and lean with sharp angles. The sounds of her systems were wrong though, too mechanical to be either Kickback or Bombshell, and he was reminded once again of all he had lost.

Hiccupping into her armour, Moonracer never spoke of how damp her shoulder had become, or how his own systems hitched, and Shrapnel slipped back into an uneasy recharge, wishing his swarm was with him.

The current died down as suddenly as it gathered, signalling to Moonracer that Shrapnel had slipped back into recharge, his whole frame still stiff even then as he clung to her, afraid to lose her too.  
Moonracer never spoke of these moments to anyone, and Shrapnel never spoke of it in the morning.

She also never told him how he muttered in his recharge, calling for his long dead swarm, begging them to come home.   
***  
Scrubbing at his face with a clawed servo Shrapnel tried to find the strength to stay awake whilst Moonracer signed for the delivery of high grade. Sideswipe and Swindle had given her a good deal on a stash they had collected from the neutral camp just outside of the Autobot territory.

He leaned against the wall by the door, trying to enjoy the morning sun, his antlers flicking over his helm. Shrapnel could hear Moonracer laughing with the crimson mech whilst Swindle counted the creds that the femme had paid him, but Shrapnel couldn’t find it in him to care.

Hard nights led to harder days and Shrapnel was just too tired tired. He sighed, feeling low and worthless. He was a worthless swarm leader and a worthless mech who had to rely on the kindness of others.

Helm tipping back, black depression took his spark as if often did, and Shrapnel felt the ache of despair fill him as he slid downward along the wall he leaned on until he sat back on his haunches, wrapping his arms around his narrow waist.

He was nothing, less than nothing. Less than the first time he escaped Cybertron with Kickback and Bombshell when the Insecticon race was being obliterated for what they were. At least then they were seen as animals, now he was a slave, he was less than nothing.

Shrapnel suppressed the sob that built in his chest, desperate to control his emotions before Moonracer came back out. It would be more than just slightly mortifying if she came out along with Sideswipe and Swindle to find him sobbing on the road.

Venting hard, Shrapnel looked up as the sense of loss was shoved back inside, pressed inward as he fought for control over his emotions. Then he looked across the road and suddenly his spark froze, his whole world changing in the blink of an optic.

His world shifting and tilting.   
No…

NO!

What he was seeing couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be! The Autobots hadn’t found his body. They all said he had to be dead as the damage report they had found on him indicated that he didn’t survive his last encounter…

Kickback, helm down and antenna low, was tugged along through the new courtyard across the busy roadway from The Dirty Frog , whilst the large blue mech with thin spires coming from his helm was smiling and speaking to a group of other high class looking mechs. Nobel born, perhaps?

But Shrapnel didn’t really care about whom they were because nothing else mattered; not the busy roadway, or that Kickback was amongst a group of mechs Shrapnel knew where Sentinel Prime’s mechs, nor did he care that Moonracer was waiting for him with Sideswipe and Swindle. Nothing mattered except for the fact that Kickback was alive.

Suddenly Shrapnel’s spark expanded with hope and excitement, and he needed to get to Kickback.  
He was moving before he was conscious of it, his need to get to Kickback over riding all other thoughts, and walking in a dreamlike state Shrapnel wandered across the busy road, mechs and femmes honking and swerving to avoid him, but he didn’t even notice them, so focused that he was on Kickback.   
Shrapnel also didn’t notice how the mech with the tall, thin helm spires held the cricket’s leash tightly, tugging Kickback roughly to his larger frame.

In his dream like haze Shrapnel heard Moonracer’s high voice calling his name, calling for him to come back, he could hear Sideswipe’s deeper, gravelly voice calling too, but it didn’t matter, not when Kickback’s dull ruby optics lifted to catch his, the dim and terrified optics catching his own, brightening just a little in surprise.

Kickback suddenly straightened up, mouth falling open in a small ‘O’ of surprise, antenna coming forward and wings shaking in suppressed joy. Shrapnel quickened his pace, moving faster, desperate to touch his swarm mate, Kickback making a small, weak noise as he tried to move forward.

Behind him, in the veil of fog and haze, Shrapnel could still hear Moonracer’s voice calling to him, asking, begging, telling him to come back, but her calls were again ignored, Shrapnel’s only focus Kickback, and the relief that he was alive.

Kickback moved towards him, servos lifting to reach for his swarm mate, but a blue servo came from behind and grabbed a purple shoulder, gripping hard enough to dent the armour as he hauled the Insecticon back.

Shrapnel snarled, electricity gathering in his antlers in rage as that blue servo was then buried into Kickback’s belly. Kickback squealed in pain and doubled up into a defenceless ball, trying to protect his midsection and face as another strike slammed into his helm.

The collar around Shrapnel’s throat lit up and sent bolts of electricity through his frame but he ignored it as he stormed to the scene before him, fists balling tight, upper lips pulled back in a snarl. His own power rivalled the collars, his own generated electricity attacking the metal that circled his throat, shorting it out, plumes of black smoke lifting and curling around his helm.

Burning rage filtered through Shrapnel, rage mingled with an undying hatred for mechs like this one; mechs who hurt his swarm.

The blue hued mech with his thin armour narrowed his optics in pure disdain, tugging Kickback towards him so that he was now stretched out and plastered over his larger frame.

Purple electricity danced over Shrapnel’s armour, gearing up for an attack, consequences be damned, but he stopped an arm’s length away, battle ready and willing to kill. The other nobles clustered behind their comrade, the scent of fear heavy in the air, afraid of the power the Insecticon had.

Then a feather light touch was pressed to Shrapnel’s shoulder, Moonracer’s EM carefully combining with his own and drawing him from his rage. Her stifled gasp and wince was enough for him to gain control over his power, her flinch felt as she continued to hold on to him, calming him.

Kickback, small and afraid, still made him seethe, made him rage, but at least with Moonracer with him and would help him take his swarm mate back.

Suddenly he was being hauled backwards by two sets of powerful servos, his trembling frame being stepped around as crimson and mint green plating suddenly stood before him. Sideswipe, large and intimidating at the left, Moonracer small but no less deadly on the right, glowering up at the blue hued mech.

Another noble stepped up next to the one that holding onto Kickback whilst the third flanked his other side, trapping Kickback between the three.

“You should learn to control your slave.” The one from the left snarled, orange optics looking Sideswipe up and down.

The crimson mech leered at the shorter mech, armour puffing up to make himself larger, more intimating whilst Swindle waited anxiously across the road. “No harm no foul friend. I’m sure we can just carry on our way.”

Shrapnel made a noise of distress from behind them, desperate to get to Kickback who looked like he was trying to disappear.

The same mech snarled again, taking a step forward, getting into Sideswipe’s face. “Law dictates that slaves need to be kept on a lead and not harassing other civilians.”

The smile Sideswipe gave was predatory and Shrapnel could feel Moonracer tensing, readying to attack, to help the former frontliner.

::Sides, if this comes to blows then take the one on the right, aim high. I’ll take the one on the left and I’ll duck under your attack.:: Moonracer told him, her face passive, giving nothing away as to the violence they were planning.   
Sideswipe buried his own smirk, chin held high in the face of nobles, having no qualms about attacking if that was what it came to.

Tension was thick in the air between them, the two Autobot stiff and still, eons of war preparing them for combat; each knowing the other had the skills to take out opponents twice their size, and much greater skills beyond that.

Suddenly the noble holding Kickback laughed, waving his two lackeys off. “Sheerfaze, Blaze it’s alright. I’m sure there is no issue here. A misunderstanding I am sure.”

The bright optics slipped over the Autobot insignia with a smile, a servo reaching out to Moonracer. “I’m Shimmergrace, Sentinel Prime’s aid, and you are?”

Cobalt blue met aquamarine as Sideswipe gave Moonracer a sideways glance. Moonracer pushed her shoulders back, helm held high as she narrowed her optics. “I’m Moonracer and this is Sideswipe.”   
The crimson mech grunted at his name, frame still waiting for the attack he was sure was to come.

A large blue servo pet between Kickback’s antenna, making the Insecticon flinch and cringe downwards and away from the rough servo.

Shrapnel snarled again, his spark squeezing at how Kickback was acting, trying to appear small and the larger Insecticon moved to push past Sideswipe and Moonracer, a mint green servo keeping him in place with a gentle, reassuring hold.

Shimmergrace smiled at him, optics leering as they looked him up and down. “I see you have a bug as well, I truly love mine.” He smirked as he rubbed a cheek against the top of Kickback’s helm, the cricket cringing away from the larger mech.

Moonracer didn’t dignify his words with a response, allowing him to continue.

“I’ve been trying to breed mine but I haven't found a successful combination to produce a sparkling, which is a shame, many of the mechs I’ve spoken with adore how obedient Insecticons are and seem to want one.”

Shock zipped through Moonracer, Sideswipe and Shrapnel, none of them able to think fast enough to produce words to snarl at the mech.

Shimmergrace’s smile grew. “Perhaps we can get these two together, it could be that two Insecticons are needed to produce sparklings. I will of course share the profit of selling the sparklings, if you are willing.”

Moonracer could feel rage returning to Shrapnel as it washed over him while a sick feeling hit the bottom of the femme’s tanks. “No. No thank you. I think we’re fine.”

She began to back away, forcing Shrapnel with her. “I have to go. It was nice to…meet you?” It came out more of a question than a statement, Sideswipe’s cobalt optics blazing with a sudden hatred as he too backed off.   
Shrapnel made to protest and struggled against her servos, optics locked on Kickback. “No, no! Kickback, back!”

Shimmergrace grinned again, a ping reaching Moonracer via proximity. “If you change your mind, give me a comm. anytime to set up a date for these two.”

Shrapnel snarled, fighting against the gentle hold, Moonracer hushing and soothing him, encouraging him to go back to the bar.

Kickback watched Shrapnel being forced to back away, hurt and sadness in his optics before he dropped them again; knowing the horror he had waiting back at home for him and hoping that Shrapnel had it better than he.

“Moonracer please, please! Don’t let them take him, him!” He hissed to her, edging into panic as Sideswipe turned him away, marching him across the road.

The femme’s servo was on his other arm, helping Sideswipe guid the Insecticon. “We’ll go talk to Prowl and figure out how this was missed.” Moonracer reassured him, her EM surrounding him in comfort. “We’ll find out how we missed him, we’ll do everything we can Shrapnel.”

Making a weak noise Shrapnel twisted his helm to watch Kickback being led away, the cricket looking small and afraid, Kickback’s crimson optics watching the stag beetle being led the other way.

Shrapnel snarled and a new determination to get Kickback out of there swamped his spark. He would protect Kickback no matter what, and with another snarl he allowed himself to be led back into the Dirty Frog so that they could contact Prowl.   
***  
Helm down, sadness swamping his spark, Shrapnel allowed his antlers to sink as Moonracer relayed the information she had gotten from Prowl.

As it seemed, this Shimmergrace had been a large backer of Sentinel Prime prior to the start of the war and Kickback was his gift, and and as most Autobots had claimed their prize there were so few that could still claim a Decepticon.

Prowl had vowed to do whatever he could do to remove Kickback from Shimmergrace and protect him, but they had to tread lightly. If they attracted too much attention to themselves it could endanger everyone else, including Shrapnel.

A small mint coloured servo sunk into Shrapnel’s clawed servo, dwarfed by its size, Moonracer squeezing his as hard as she could. “We’ll do what we can Shrap. We’ll find a way to get him home.” The femme said softly, her aqua optics watery and sad. “We will.”

Moonracer tried to be reassuring, to lift his wounded spark, and Shrapnel tried to believe her, believe Moonracer’s promises, but he couldn't.

The Insecticon huffed a mirthless laugh, crimson optics dipping low and away from Moonracer. “What is home now, now?”   
Moonracer frowned at his bitter voice, the anger there, but she understood it, as well as the pain he carried, but she still tried.

“Shrap.” He looked away from her, face crunched and bitter. “Shrapnel, please look at me.”

The Insecticon sighed but angry, hurt optics lifted to meet her soft aquamarine and her softer smile.

“I know this is not ideal, that this is not how your life should be, and if I could change it I would in a spark pulse. But after what we’ve been through, together, your home will always be with me, no matter what happens, you will always be welcome here with me.”

Some of the bitterness, anger and hate melted from his face, and the corners of the Insecticon’s lips turned up just slightly before falling. Heaving a sigh Shrapnel fell from where he sat, his helm pressing into Moonracer’s thighs, pressing his face into her light coloured armour. Her delicate servo fell onto the back of his helm, gently petting it and the back of his neck as he pushed his pedes up onto the arm of the couch they sat on.

“What about Kickback, back?”

Moonracer kept petting the back of his neck, biting her lip in guilt and worry. She knew Kickback wasn’t her fault and that there was nothing she could have done to prevent what had happened to him, but that didn’t stop her from feeling awful, or hurting for Shrapnel as he fought off the emotions that welled.

“Prowl is the smartest mech I know Shrap. If anyone can find a loophole, Prowl will. We just need to be careful or you could end up there too.”

Her gentle voice did nothing to sooth him. “I would rather be there in place of him, him.” He muttered angrily.

Moonracer’s frown deepened, her spark pulsing in pain. “We’ll be ready for when he comes home Shrap, and we’ll do whatever it takes to make him feel safe and loved again. We’ll do everything to help Kickback.”

Shrapnel turned his face into Moonracer’s thigh a little more and she said nothing as she felt something wet.

“Moonracer, racer?”

“Yes?”

“Contact Shimmergrace, grace. Make the appointment to breed us, us.”

Panic lit through Moonracer, her tone horrified and panicky. “Shrapnel, I can’t…”

“Please Moonracer, racer. You must, must.”

“Shrapnel.” Her voice sounded so weak, brittle.   
The Insecticon lifted his face, his optics wet with tears. “If you care about me, make the appointment, appointment.”

Moonracer felt her own tears gathering, unable to comprehend how Shrapnel could want this. “That’s blackmail.”

“I know, know. But I need to see him, him. I need to know Kickback is okay, okay.” Shrapnel’s antlers twitched, his face contorted in pain. “He was always the smallest, the weakest, weakest. We always promised to keep him safe, safe. We failed him, him. I failed them both, both.”

Shrapnel gripped Moonracer’s servos, squeezing them tightly. “Please Moonracer, let me see if he is okay, okay.”

Gazing into the watery gaze Moonracer sighed, her shoulders drooping a little as her own gaze lowered with them.  
***  
Moonracer squirmed, feeling extremely uncomfortable as she sat across from Shimmergrace and his smirk.

He poured highly refined energon into a glass flute and offered her the lightly colored fuel. “I must say, Moonracer, I am surprised that you called me after all.” Her aquamarine optics glanced to the closed door that held the two insecticons.

“You did not seem too thrilled when I suggested that your Shrapnel and my Kickback breed.” His grin became predatory and she wished that Elita-One or Chromia were here, or Sideswipe, Sunstreaker even. The sun hued mech could out-intimidate any mech.

Pushing her shoulders back, Moonracer’s head came up as she accepted the flute. “Interaction with one’s own species is good for them. The social interaction will be good for him.” She lied smoothly, quickly hiding her face by taking a mouthful of energon.

Shimmergrace smirked and saluted. “To social interaction then.”

It took everything in Moonracer to not wipe that smug look off his perfect face, but instead she took another drink, hiding her grimace.   
***  
Kickback sat with his back to Shrapnel, his optics focused on the floor whilst he knotted his hands in his lap, his fear erratic in his EM field.

“Kickback, back?” Shrapnel said softly, coming to sit next to his kin. “Are you okay, okay?” Shrapnel winced at his words as they left his mouth. Of course Kickback was not okay.

Dull red optics lifted to stare fearfully up at Shrapnel before Kickback’s optics dropped down quickly.   
Hunkering down Shrapnel lowered his antlers, making himself as small as he physically could; not feeling lost and afraid for the first time in a long time. He had a swarm mate to care for, someone who needed him to be stronger than he felt and he thought about what Moonracer would do for him.

“I’m not okay.” Kickback said weakly.   
Shrapnel frowned and slowly his clawed hand reached out to Kickback’s, linking their fingers as he squeezed his hand.

Kickback sighed and leaned into Shrapnel’s larger frame, relaxing for the first time in longer than he could remember. Dull optics flickered as they slipped offline and he cuddled into Shrapnel’s side, Shrapnel sighing as he felt a burst of the familiarity and comfort of having a swarm mate so close.   
Moonracer was a good substitute but she just wasn’t Kickback.

“Shrapnel?”

“Yes, yes?”

“I’m carrying Bombshell’s sparkling. I won’t be able to hide it much longer.” Kickback said softly, optics still offline as he pressed desperately into Shrapnel’s side.

Shrapnel froze, antlers snapping up in surprise. His optics brightened as they tipped down to Kickback, his mouth falling open in shock.

“What, what?”

Dim optics onlined. “I need you to do me a favor, Shrapnel.” For the first time in a very long time Kickback’s optics brightened with hope.   
***  
Moonracer held Shrapnel’s hand as they sat safely in their home, both in deep, worried thoughts.

“Moonracer, racer?” The Insecticon said quietly, unfocused red optics staring at the floor.

“Hmm?” she hummed softly, thinking about Shimmergrace’s offer to have them breed again. The Autobot was worried, terrified of what this would do to Shrapnel, or what would happen if she refused the offer.

“How much do you know of insecticon breeding habits, habits?”

Aquamarine optics blinked as she focused back in on Shrapnel, and after a long pause she shook her head no. “I…not much Shrap. Why?”

His large, tense frame huffed a sigh and suddenly his hand clung to hers in a desperation. “Insecticons were cannon fodder, fodder. We were created to breed fast and efficiently, efficiently.”

Moonracer’s optics clouded with confusion as she frowned at him, but she allowed him to continue.   
“  
We have a few unique abilities to aid us, us. To help us breed and protect ourselves, selves.” There was a hesitant pause and worried dim optics lifted to hers. “And the sparklings, sparklings.”

The femme’s optics brightened. “O-okay. Like what?”

Red optics fell again and Shrapnel sighed. “We can transfer sparklings from one host spark to another, another. So if one carrier was passing they could give their sparkling to another host, host.”   
Worry began to creep into Moonracer’s spark. “Shrapnel?”

Shrapnel kept his gaze downcast, the armour which protected the Insecticon beginning to rattle as he trembled. “Bombshell and Kickback produced a sparkling before Bombshell was extinguished, extinguished. Kickback put the sparkling into hibernation, hoping to escape, escape.”

“You can do that?” she sounded surprised, shocked even. The pieces beginning to fall into place and she felt sick.

“For a short time, time. Can’t keep the sparkling in hibernation forever, ever.”   
Moonracer felt her spark throb harder. “Shrapnel, do you have Kickback and Bombshell’s sparkling?”

Their optics locked and Shrapnel looked grim, giving her a very small nod. “I couldn’t save them but I could save their sparkling, sparkling.”

“Oh Primus.” The mint green femme gasped, her small hand squeezing Shrapnel’s large one.

“And this sparkling, sparkling,” his hand fell to his chest in mourning. “Will be born into a world where he will be a slave, slave. And I will never save Kickback, back.”

Blue optics flickered to Shrapnel’s chest and to the small life that he held within his chest plates. The innocent little life that would never know its creators. One that would grow in an oppressive world which would put him into chains the moment he was old enough, maybe even before then if Sentinel had his way.

Rage flashed through Moonracer and her grip tightened on Shrapnel’s hand. She would not stand for this, would refuse to allow this to happen, and if Prowl couldn’t help her then she would find someone who would.

First though, she would contact Ratchet. If Shrapnel was going to carry the sparkling to term then he needed more care than she knew how to provide. Neither the sparkling nor Shrapnel would go without under her watch.

The next comm was to her unit leader, Elita-One.   
***  
Shrapnel lay on their couch, pedes propped up over the edge, wide ruby optics staring at his chest while he purred softy. His nesting protocols were now fully online as the fledgling newspark orbited his spark.

Moonracer set a cube of warm energon down, the additives that Ratchet had prescribed giving the purple liquid a pinky hue. Her small hand fell between his antlers and onto his helm to give a gentle pat. Shrapnel, in his new state of comfort and ease, pressed into the touch with a purr, optics off lining, enjoying the touch from his swarm leader.

Chuckling softly, Moonracer allowed her hand to linger, giving him some further comfort. “Make sure you drink that while it’s warm, otherwise it will taste like slag if it cools.”

Shrapnel, looking so very odd in such a relaxed, easy going state, made a non-committal noise, optics offlining as he relaxed further. The sparkling made him less hostile when it was only himself and Moonracer.

A ring at their door caused Shrapnel sit upright with a hiss, armour bristling and puffing up to make himself look larger. The flip side to an Insecticon who was with a sparkling, was they were extremely aggressive when a non-swarm member came anywhere near them; Shrapnel was mellow to the point of submissive with Moonracer, but nearly had to be sedated when Ratchet preformed his exam of the sparkling and Shrapnel’s spark.

Moonracer had sat with Shrapnel, gently soothing him, reminding him that Ratchet was a friend of their swarm and meant them no harm.

Taking a deep vent to calm herself Moonracer heard Shrapnel scrambling over the couch to hide behind it, the telltale sign that he was covering himself in current to protect himself and the sparkling.

Moonracer took another vent, feeling the heaviness of her blaster in her subspace. Shrapnel’s sparkling was the best kept secret among the Autobots and something Shimmergracer could never discover. As far as anyone would know, the sparkling belonged to her and no one else.

Happy that her blaster was in reach, Moonracer opened the door to their home and the tension she carried melted away at seeing Elita-One’s face; her normally stern look oddly soft with a small amused smirk on her lips, her blue optics bright with delight and Moonracer wondered if that was what she would have looked like when she was Ariel.

“Elita.” Moonracer said softly, her shoulders relaxing as she smiled.

“Moonracer.” Her commander intoned gently, nodding, optics flickered around Moonracer’s home, seeing the very tips of Shrapnel’s antlers. “Shrapnel.” She greeted quietly as well.

Baleful ruby optics peeked over the back of the seat to glare at Elita-One, a chest deep growl rumbling from the Insecticon. Elita’s smile softened as she looked at him, pink helm shaking side to side. “Does he just not like me, or is it the sparkling?”

Moonracer frowned at Shrapnel, her spark stilling at the mention of the unharvested newspark. “How do you…”

“Know? Optimus. He really can’t keep a secret from me to save his life.” Blue optics rolled. “But more importantly he asked for my help.”

Confusion clouded Moonracer’s aquamarine optics and she bit at her lower lip. “How?”

The pink femme’s smirk softened into a small smile. “I am one of the very few who never chose a…” she hesitated before she took a vent and said what it was. “To choose a slave, and I never wanted to be responsible for another’s life like this. But this, this need is greater than my want.”

Shrapnel stopped growling and he pushed himself up higher so that his whole helm peeked over the coach, clawed servos coming to grip the back tightly. He gave Elita-One a cautious look, almost like he knew what she was speaking about, but he didn’t dare hope for it.

Bright blue optics flickered to Elita’s side and she spoke in a soft voice that Moonracer had never heard before from her commander. “It’s okay. You can come in, you have no need to be afraid.”

Ruby and aquamarine optics brightened in hope as their attention turned to the side Elita-One spoke to, and suddenly Kickback, his arms wrapped around himself and optics to the floor, quickly stepped into view and pressed himself under Elita’s arm and into her side; quite a feat for an Insecticon who was much larger than she.

Moonracer’s jaw dropped and Shrapnel shot straight to his feet, optics wide and servos shaking. “Kickback, back?”

Hesitant, terrified ruby optics lifted briefly before they fell again and Kickback hunched in on himself.   
Elita-One gave him a squeeze from where she held him, her helm dipped to whisper into his audial. “It’s alright Kickback, you need not fear them, they are your swarm too.”

Terrified optics lifted to blue, only to fall again to the femme’s pink chest. “S-swarm?”

“Yes, swarm. These are your swarm mates. They won’t hurt you, and neither will I.” She assured him softly, and all Moonracer could do was watch on in total awe.

Kickback nodded, hands trembling as he held himself. “Yes master.” He uttered.

For a brief moment there was a hurt, helpless look on Elita-One’s face. The whole reason she never taken a Decepticon was because she did not agree with their enslavement. The femme had demanded and argued venomously for their freedom.

The look smoothed quickly and Elita gave him another unusual soft look. “You don’t have to call me master, Kickback, Elita is fine.”

Moonracer hurt all over again, Kickback reminding her how damaged all the Decepticons had been when they first were removed from Sentinel Prime’s compound.

Kickback shifted, nervous and unsure and he nodded again. “Okay….Elita.”

A strange, sad look crossed the commander’s face and she patted his shoulder. “Why don’t you go see Shrapnel? I believe he will be very excited to see you.”

Hope shone in Kickback’s optics as he glanced between the two femmes. “Okay.” He said quietly, and moving slowly, hesitantly, like he expected to be struck, Kickback slunk into the apartment.

Once he passed the two femmes Kickback broke into a run and straight to Shrapnel, leaping over the couch and into Shrapnel’s arms. The other Insecticon caught him, drawing him close to his chest then sunk low behind the couch once more. Clicking and soft purring could be heard from the pair and Shrapnel’s antlers twitched just over the top of the seat.   
Elita’s shoulders drooped a little, her voice still unusually soft as she stepped into Moonracer’s apartment, the door sliding shut behind her. “I never wanted to take on a Decepticon, their position in this new world is unfair.”

Moonracer’s optics lifted to her commander but Elita-One was watching where the two Insecticons were huddled.

“But when Optimus told me of Kickback’s position I could not stand by and allow that poor mech to continue to suffer.” Her helm shook and the rage that Elita was known for suddenly sparkled in her optics. “We’ve had him at our headquarters for only a handful of orns now, but those first few orns were awful. He was so afraid, he still is. He won't let anyone but myself and Chromia near him.” She sighed softly. “I was hoping that seeing Shrapnel would calm him. I’m glad he is finally calm.”

Moonracer’s optics clouded in confusion. “If he’s been away from Shimmergrace for so long, why keep it a secret?”

Kickback chirped softly before falling silent again and all the tension from Elita melted away. “There was a chance that Sentinel would demand his return to Shimmergrace, and we didn’t want to get Shrapnel’s hope up.” Her helm tipped to the smaller femme, her confident smirk returning. “He will not try now. Kickback is now my responsibility and it is my duty to protect him.”

Moonracer suddenly beamed. “And he will have no better than you to protect him!”

Blue optics flashed in surprise and Elita-One smirked. “I will try my utmost best to do what is right for him.” Her optics swept from the two Insecticons to Moonracer. “I was thinking Moonracer, that for Kickback and Shrapnel’s sake they should live together.”

For a moment Moonracer’s spark squeezed in fear, thinking that Elita would suggest that Shrapnel leave to live with them, for Kickback’s sake. “You should move back to headquarters with Shrapnel. I believe he could use the support from a swarm mate, and I know Kickback will need that support too.”

Relief swept through Moonracer and she beamed. “I think Shrapnel would like that too.”

From behind the couch the two Insecticons continued to chirp at each other, whispering quiet words as they held desperately onto each other.

Moonracer nodded. “A swarm should not be separated.”

Elita-One nodded her agreement. “And honestly, you are the expert when it comes to Insecticons, your knowledge may be what helps us save Kickback. Besides,” her smile softened again. “I think he wants to see his sparkling grow.”

“As do I.” Moonracer agreed, a thought suddenly making her smile. “How did Chromia adapt to Kickback?”

Blue optics rolled as Elita-One huffed. “She is extraordinarily amused that Kickback has taken a liking to her.”

An optic brow rose. “To Chromia?”

Nodding, Elita crossed her arms over her chest. “To Chromia.” She confirmed. “And she has been surprisingly patient with him. Doesn’t even mind when he asks to recharge between her and I.”   
Elita gave an amused smirk as Moonracer gave her a knowing smile. “Shrapnel likes to recharge in a pile as well.”

“And now perhaps we can save them both, as well as the innocent one.” The commander added.  
Moonracer nodded her agreement and as the pair watched the two Insecticons, for the first time in a long time, Moonracer had hope for the future. 

+

Not completely happy with this chapter, there had been so much more I had wanted to do with it, but lost the muse for it. Wanted to finish it though. Until next time!

 


End file.
